


Three Days in New York

by Frequently_Humming



Series: With the New Day [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Misunderstandings, Overworking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frequently_Humming/pseuds/Frequently_Humming
Summary: “So, Tyler has no idea you’re coming, right,” he asked as Iolo maneuvered around the corner.“Nope.  It’s about time that bastard learns he’s not the only one who can surprise the crap out of a guy.”“You know, to an untrained observer,” Bastian began with a slight laugh in his voice, “it could sound like you don’t even like this guy.”Iolo joined in the laughter, smile widely.  “Well, good thing there’s not one of those around."





	1. Friday, July 20th

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes an idea just worms its way into your mind and you've got to give it the attention it demands.
> 
> Alternatively: a reminder that I haven't abandoned my stories or these characters.
> 
> Warning: there are hints of eating disorders in this. While this is not the main plot of the story, it is part of the character developments. If this will be upsetting or a trigger for you, please proceed with caution. As someone who has personal experience with these issues, I aim to treat this sensitive topic with the gravity it deserves. How the characters in this story handle the issue is imperfect and human. If you struggle with any of the topics discussed in any of my stories, please do not take my characters as guidance. I'm a writer, not a trained professional.
> 
> With that, I hope you enjoy the next installment. I've been working on this for a long time and I'm really excited to share it with you.

“Ready to hit the road?”

 

“You know it,” Bastian chimed as he ducked into the passenger seat of Kylo’s Lexus and shot a smile at Iolo, who returned it while looking over the rim of his sunglasses.  “Thanks for letting me bum along,” he added as he shut the car door, slinging his backpack into the backseat where it joined Iolo’s.

 

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Iolo rejoined as he twisted around to check his blind spot before easing away from the curb.  “I really hate driving alone.”

 

“Too much time alone with your own madness,” Bastian suggested brightly, sliding his own pair of knock-off Ray-Bans over the bridge of his nose.

 

Iolo snorted, the corner of his lips twitching up as he said, “Something like that.  Know from experience, Pixy Stix?”

 

“Pixy Stix,” Bastian repeated, confused, and Iolo chuckled in the back of his throat, catching the yellow light and speeding up to make it through the intersection.

 

“Yeah.  It suits you.”

 

“Does it?  How,” Bastian asked skeptically, pulling his cellphone out of his front pocket as the GPS directed Iolo to turn left in point-five miles.

 

“Well, you’re sweet, high-inducing, and a hit with kids,” Iolo answered carelessly, eyes on the road and missing the wide-eyed look of surprise shot his way by the other occupant of the car.

 

“Uh, thank you—I think.”

 

“You’re welcome—I’m sure,” Iolo countered teasingly, flicking on the turn signal with his wrist as Bastian shook his head to himself and looked intently at the screen of his phone.

 

“So, Tyler has no idea you’re coming, right,” he asked as Iolo maneuvered around the corner.

 

“Nope.  It’s about time that bastard learns he’s not the only one who can surprise the crap out of a guy.”

 

“You know, to an untrained observer,” Bastian began with a slight laugh in his voice, “it could sound like you don’t even like this guy.”

 

Iolo joined in the laughter, smile widely.  “Well, good thing there’s not one of those around.  How was your trip home?  The sisters coddle you?”

 

And with that the two settled in for the four-hour drive to New York City, catching up.

 

*****

 

“Wouldn’t it be hilarious if after all this we’re at the wrong venue?”

 

“Well, the bonus is no one knows we’re here, so the embarrassment will stay between you and me,” Iolo replied, squinting up at the marquee.

 

“That’s exactly what I was told when I lost my virginity,” Bastian said with a serious nod.  Iolo slowly turned to stare at the younger man with scrutiny and Bastian’s solemn façade vanished as he smirked.

 

“Not funny,” Iolo stated as he slid his phone from his pocket.

 

“Not a lie though, ya know,” Bastian quipped, crossing his arms.  “Sex is pretty embarrassing, right?”

 

“Not if you’re doing it right,” Iolo retorted as he made his selection and then brought his phone to his ear, listening to the mechanical ringing and slinging his arm around Bastian’s shoulders mindlessly.

 

“ _Hey, Lo.  What’s up?_ ”

 

“Hi, Finn.  Just wondering, you guys are at the Music Hall of Williamsburg tonight, right,” Iolo asked, twitching away from Bastian’s jabbing elbow and tugging Bastian’s earlobe in retaliation.

 

“ _Yep, next three nights.  Why?_ ”

 

“Me and Bas are out front.  Think you could sneak us backstage?”

 

“ _What?!_ ”

 

“Got him,” Iolo said with satisfaction, ending the call with his thumb and shoving Bastian away as the younger man ran a finger around his belly button.  “Quit it, you weirdo.”

 

“You’re not really ticklish,” Bastian observed, his searching fingers moving from Iolo’s torso to ribs while Iolo stood stoically.

 

“No, I’m not.  I wouldn’t’ve survived in my family if I was.  My brothers exploited every weakness,” Iolo said, allowing Bastian to explore, reaching Iolo’s armpits with worming digits while Iolo just looked bored.

 

“Ticklish isn’t a weakness; it’s just a—what do you call it,” Bastian said, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he took a step back and looked Iolo over.  “Can you take off your shoes for a sec?”

 

“Yeah, but I’m not going to,” Iolo stated matter-of-factly just as Finn rounded the side of the building, looking around him frantically.

 

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” he gaped, catching sight of the pair standing on the sidewalk by the doors to the venue.  “You’re _seriously_ here.”  

 

“Surprise and all that shit,” Iolo drawled with a wide smirk.  “Not too shabby, huh?”

 

“This is incredible,” Finn announced, entire face lifting into a huge grin and he rushed forward and tugging Iolo and Bastian into a tight hug, one arm around each of them.  “Oh my God, Ty is gonna _die_!”

 

“That would be awkward,” Bastian mentioned, rubbing his hand along Finn’s back.

 

“Not _die_ -die but—holy shit, I can’t believe it,” Finn babbled, pulling back and looking between the two with still-incredulous eyes.  “No, seriously, Ty’s gonna love this.  He’s been ridden into the ground the last couple of shows.  He needs something to cheer him up.”

 

“Ridden into the ground, huh?  Lo, who’s moving in on your territory,” Bastian asked jokingly, his smile fading as he was confronted with two sharp glares.  “Kidding, kidding, for fuck’s sake.”

 

“Right,” Iolo drew out, turning his attention back to Finn, who kept up his scowl for another moment longer.  “Where’s the rock star?”

 

“Dressing room,” Finn replied, jerking his towards the alley he’d come from.  “Come on, we can catch him before soundcheck.  I can’t wait to see his _face_.”

 

“I’ll meet up with you guys later, okay?”

 

“Not so fast,” Iolo interjected, catching Bastian’s arm as the man started turning away.  “You’re sticking with me.  I don’t have time to bail you out of some police holding cell for doing something stupid you _didn’t know was illegal_ ,” he finished, pitching his voice high in mockery.

 

“That was _one time_ ,” Bastian snapped defensively, and Finn chortled in amusement.

 

“It was two times, and we both know it, Pixy Stix.  You’re staying with me,” Iolo said firmly, tugging Bastian into step with him as Finn led the way.

 

“Pixy Stix?  I can see it,” Finn commented playfully, and Bastian stuck out his tongue childishly.

 

“Behave.  Don’t make me tattle on you to Poe,” Iolo scolded lightly, tossing his arm around Bastian’s shoulders again and pulling him to his side.

 

“How the hell did Poe keep this quiet,” Finn demanded over his shoulder, drawing to a stop in front of a black-painted metal door where two tall, muscular men were lounging.  “Hey, J ‘n’ J, these guys are with me.”

 

One of the J’s gave Iolo and Bastian a quick once-over while the other grunted without looking up from his phone.  Finn smiled widely and marched forward, tugging open the door and waving Iolo and Bastian into the lit hallway.

 

“I didn’t know they were at security guard level,” Bastian said as the door slammed shut with a loud resounding thud behind him.

 

“Nah, but the main act is.  Does Poe know you’re here,” Finn pressed as the three walked single-file down the skinny hall, stacks of black boxes and carriers on either side.

 

“He found out this morning.  I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep a secret for long,” Iolo said blasé.  “And then he was mad he couldn’t come with, but he’s got work.”

 

“That sucks,” Finn mumbled, mostly to himself.  “But we’ll hit Boston next week--,”

 

“No, really,” Bastian asked in exaggerated astonishment.  “You think Poe would’ve said something once or twice or a few million times.”

 

“He’s really excited,” Iolo added unnecessarily, and Finn beamed back at the blonde happily.  “You two are adorable.”

 

“Thank ya,” Finn accepted easily with a shrug.  “Here, wait a sec,” he said, stopping and holding up a finger just outside an open doorway.  “Let’s do this right, yeah?”

 

“You’re the expert,” Iolo nodded, stepping to the side and pushing Bastian back to let a woman dressed in all black with a headset stride past them.

 

Finn winked at that, placed his finger to his lips, and then slipped into the doorway.  Iolo and Bastian inched closer in unison, and Iolo peeked into the cramped room, a wall of mirrors reflecting a beat-up leather couch.  In the mirror Iolo could see Tyler, hair longer than he remembered, bright blue sections taking the place of lavender, his eyes closed and his legs crossed on top of the couch cushion.  “Hey, Ty,” Finn started.

 

“One sec, sweetie,” Tyler answered, eyes staying closed and holding up his cellphone, the wire connecting it to his earbuds lifting in a swoop.  “Lady with the sleepy voice is tellin’ me to pretend I’m a feather…feather floating in the breeze.”  

 

Bastian blinked in surprise.  “He meditates,” he asked in a hushed whisper, lips to Iolo’s ear.

 

“I suggested it.  He was sounding stressed,” Iolo murmured back.

 

Finn shifted his weight from his left to right foot, glancing back at the hidden-from-sight men with an apologetic grimace.  Iolo dismissed the sympathy with a shake of his head and a shrug, his focus returning to Tyler’s reflection, his face peaceful and chest rising and falling in a slow soothing pattern.  Iolo was almost hypnotized as he watched, barely noticing as Bastian notched his chin on his shoulder.

 

Then there was a loud bang and Tyler jumped, flinching back and ripping his earbuds out.

 

“What the fuck are you—Jesus Christ, are listening to that shit again,” Matt demanded, the tall man’s reflection suddenly appearing in the mirror, arms crossed and looking disgusted.  “You look like a moron, sitting like that.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler mumbled, gray eyes falling to his lap, twisting the thin white wire around his fingers.

 

“Move your ass, you’ve got two soundchecks and Kim wants you to run through the closer.  Last night you sounded like shit.”

 

“Was tired,” Tyler grumbled.

 

“Then down a Red Bull or somethin’.  Do ya know what you’re wearin’?”

 

“Nope, thought I’d give public nudity a go,” Tyler said, pushing his hair back and getting to his feet as Matt rolled his eyes.

 

“Whatever.  Get a move on,” Matt snapped, turning on his heel and leaving through the door to backstage.  “And put on some goddamn shoes; if you split open your foot again I’m not carryin’ ya to urgent care.”

 

“Do this, Cinderella, do that, Cinderella,” Tyler sang quietly to himself, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his head to ease a knot in the base of his neck.  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie and started after Matt before remembering and turning back.  “Sorry, sweetheart, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

 

“Uh, I’ll tell ya later,” Finn said, casting a glance over his shoulder.

 

“You sure,” Tyler double-checked, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s--,”

 

“Time to get wired, tiger,” Clyde announced, poking his head into the dressing room and pointing to his ear.  “Wanna borrow some sneaks or somethin’?”

 

“Clyde,” Tyler started and then broke off, not knowing what he wanted to say.  The auburn-haired man’s face twisted, shooting an uncomfortable glance at Finn.

 

“Later, yeah?  Later,” Clyde repeated with the hardness of certainty as he held out a hand and jerked his head towards backstage.  Tyler’s shoulders lifted with a deep inhale and then slumped with a harsh exhale.

 

“Yeah.  See ya in a bit, sweetheart,” Tyler said over his shoulder without looking as he moved forward.  Clyde ran his hand through Tyler’s long hair as he passed, and Tyler didn’t bother to try and stop him as he was immediately set upon by Vicki, who lifted up the back of his sweatshirt and attached the earpiece box to his pants.  Her chilly hands threaded the wire up his back, poking through his collar.  “Thanks, Vicki,” he said with a semi-forced smile as he reached behind him and grabbed the earpieces and angled them into his ears with ease.  Simon marched up as Vicki left, talking into her walkie talkie, and he handed Tyler his blue electric guitar, already plugged in.  Tyler nodded his thanks as he slung the strap over his shoulder.

 

“Here,” Matt muttered, suddenly at Tyler’s side and holding out a black pick.  Tyler looked between the offering and Matt’s face, eyebrow raised questioningly.  Matt frowned tightly.  “Sorry.  I know I’ve been a jerk.”

 

“Tried to give Tara notes, did ya,” Tyler asked, taking the pick and flipping it between his fingers idly.

 

Matt smiled ruefully down at Tyler.  “Yeah…but Finn gave me a look like I was abusin’ ya or somethin’.”

 

“Ya know how he gets,” Tyler shrugged with one shoulder.  “He’d do the same for you—if I ever lost my mind and tried to order ya around.”

 

Matt snorted but cracked a smile.  “I’d almost pay to see that.”

 

“Did I really sound that bad last night,” Tyler asked abruptly, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Clyde was behind his drums, tapping on the bass peddle.

 

“No,” Matt ground out, shooting a glare across the stage at no one in particular.  “You sounded like you were reachin’ which you were.  Like to see any of them do better performin’ two full shows a night.”

 

“Any word on when their replacement is gettin’ here?”

 

“Haven’t heard,” Matt grumbled, tapping his fingers against the neck of his guitar.  “Think they’re anglin’ to have ya with them to finish the tour.”

 

Tyler ran a hand through his hair with a frown.  “I know they’re payin’ us pretty good and all but…Matt, I’m bein’ serious; I dunno if I can keep this up.”

 

“For once in my life, I don’t care about the money anymore,” Matt stated as Tara meandered on stage, bopping her head to her twin’s rhythm.  “I don’t like feelin’ like your pimp over here.”

 

Tyler laughed, accepting his microphone from a passing stagehand, checking the little red light was on.  “Well, let’s hope it don’t come to that.  Cause I’ve got it on good authority I ain’t hot enough for the stripper life.”

 

“I say such shit sometimes,” Matt laughed, tousling Tyler’s hair before heading for his mic stand on stage left.  Tyler bit the pick between his teeth and followed, slight smile playing on his lips as Tara tossed her long red hair back and pulled her mic close.

 

“ _Singing Radiohead at the top of our lungs_ ,” she sang to the Clyde’s beat, and Tyler stuck the pick into the holder on the side of his mic stand.

 

“ _With the boombox blaring as we’re falling in love_ ,” Tyler continued into his mic, clipping it in place and then reaching behind him to pull his stool closer.

 

“ _Got a bottle of whatever but it’s getting us drunk_ ,” the two harmonized, Tyler taking the higher step and winking across at Tara, who beat her fist against her hip in time.

 

“ _Singing here’s to never growing up_ ,” they finished as Clyde clanged the largest cymbal before stifling the vibrations with his hand.

 

“Can we take a sec to ‘preciate that Ty can sing Avril Lavigne at the drop of the hat,” Clyde said into his microphone and Tyler heard him through his earpiece.

 

“Like you can’t,” Tara countered as Tyler picked up the Gatorade on the floor next to his stand and twisted the cap open.

 

“I lived with ya—what’s his excuse?”

 

“His excuse is he’s got a steel-trap mind,” Matt retorted, and Tyler shot him a quick wink as he gulped the light purple, slightly salty drink.

 

“Yeah yeah, it’s all sunshine and puppies now that I’ve got backup, ain’t it,” Tyler teased, replacing the cap and dropping the plastic bottle onto the black wood stage.  “What’re we startin’ with?”

 

“I’m kinda bored,” Tara contributed, speaking into her mic and draping one of her arms over the stand.  “Can we mix it up today?”

 

“Think I’m supposed to run through _Angels_ ,” Tyler mentioned, hearing the volume of his voice modulate as his earpiece was adjusted in the booth.

 

“Fuck that,” Clyde snapped, his foot tapping the bass drum again.  “ ‘Member when we used to have fun?”

 

“Hey, I’m havin’ fun,” Tyler protested, turning around to give the drummer a wide-eyed look of warning.

 

“I say we—sorry, can we help ya,” Tyler heard Tara ask in his ear followed immediately by Matt’s

 

“Holy fucking God.”

 

“Huh,” Tyler grunted, glancing around.  Matt met his gaze and pointed to the house.  Tyler slowly spun to face forward.  He stood motionless except for rapid blinking as he stared in incomprehension at the blonde man in a short-sleeve blue button-up and jeans, standing in the open pit with his arms crossed and an expectant expression.  Tyler’s gaze darted to his Gatorade and he mumbled, “What the hell did they put in that?”

 

“Nah, I see him too,” Matt supplied, and Tyler had his guitar off and on the floor in a split second, bounding off the stage with a bright, almost hysterical laugh.  “Watch your feet, dumbass,” Matt hollered as Tyler dodged around the metal barriers being set up and charged across the open space.

 

“Gotcha, I gotcha,” Iolo breathed, planting his feet and catching Tyler as the singer hurled himself into Iolo’s arms.  Tyler tucked his head into the side of Iolo’s neck, and Iolo locked his arms around the trembling, slight man.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”

 

“Don’t leave,” Tyler whispered, and Iolo griped the wavy hair between his fingers and pulled gently, urging the singer to look up.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?  But I’m going to need you to breathe or else I’m probably going to start freaking out,” Iolo said seriously, his left arm wound tight around Tyler’s waist.  The singer gulped shakily like he didn’t remember how, his gray eyes too wide as he stared at the blonde for the next instructions.  “Okay, okay,” Iolo mumbled, using his grip on Tyler’s hair to ease the younger man’s head back to his shoulder, shielding him from the harsh glare he shot at the man with the black electric guitar watching the pair from the stage.

 

“Don’t ask,” was all the warning the embracing couple got before another set of arms wound around them.  Iolo twisted his neck around awkwardly to give Bastian a bemused look as Bastian’s arm settled around Iolo’s hips, the other arm draped over Tyler’s bowed shoulders.  “I said don’t ask.”

 

Iolo opened his mouth to ask anyway but Bastian shook his head once before casting a pointed look to the side.  The blonde’s gaze followed and took in the sound techs and venue staff watching them, not all with benign curiosity, and Iolo gritted his teeth.  “Ty, come on.  Let’s get out of here,” Iolo murmured as Tyler’s body shifted slightly to lean against Bastian’s chest.

 

“Can’t,” Tyler answered.  “Voices in my head tellin’ me to get on with it.”

 

“Uh, is that—do you have a lot of voices in your head,” Bastian asked cautiously.  Tyler let out a shaky chuckle before worming one of his arms free and tucking his hair behind his ear, revealing one of his earpieces.  “Oh.  Like a spy.”

 

“Kinda,” Tyler agreed, lifting his head on his own with a small, sheepish smile.  “But not as cool.”

 

“Fuck them,” Iolo snapped, barely managing to keep his voice low.  “Come on, Ty.”

 

“Later?  After?  I’ll make it quick,” Tyler promised hopefully, smile widening in assurance while Iolo felt his scowl deepen.  “Just--,” he broke off with a grimace, looking over his shoulder at Matt, who frowned tightly back.  Tyler shook his head and pulled his earpieces out with a jerk as the commentary continued.  “Ten minutes, yeah?  Just give me ten.”

 

Iolo didn’t know who the singer was talking to, but then Tyler ducked his head and placed a featherlight kiss under Iolo’s ear and patted Bastian’s bicep with an unreadable smile.  Then he was walking backwards, with keeping eye contact with Iolo, trying to communicate something.  Bastian’s arm stayed around Iolo’s waist, bottom lip tucked between his teeth nervously as he watched Tyler finally turn and pad back to the stage, propelling himself over the barriers lightly, and then taking Clyde’s hands to help haul himself back onto the stage.

 

“Make it fast,” Tyler asked in an undertone.

 

“You got it,” Clyde agreed quickly.  “ _Rest of Us_ and _God Laughed_ and we’re off.”

 

“Matt’s getting the other guys to move up their soundcheck.  Might get a good hour before light’s up,” Tara said, coming over, nodding to where the lead guitarist was speaking to the main act’s wrangler.  “You never said the boy was like a freakin’ cherub.  Like, what the hell?”

 

“Think you might wanna skip callin’ him an angel,” Tyler suggested with a crooked smile.  “Somethin’ tells me he won’t ‘preciate that.”

 

“Might get mad?  He looks hot mad,” Tara considered as Tyler picked up Lyris up from where he’d placed her earlier, giving his guitar’s neck a stroke of apology for abandoning her before the bassist’s words sunk in and he looked up, squinting against the spotlights that was flashing in test.  Between the bright flickers he caught sight of Iolo being pushed and dragged away by Finn and Bastian, all while glaring menacingly at Matt, who hadn’t noticed.

 

“Get your ears in, yeah,” Clyde mumbled, smacking Tyler square on the back before heading back to his drums, Matt moving back to his mic stand with a significant look at Tyler, who nodded back once.

 

“We got your back, no worries,” Tara whispered into the shell of his ear before pinching his side through his hoodie as Clyde counted off the tempo with his drumsticks.

 

*****

 

“ _Ridden into the ground_?!”

 

“What do we do,” Finn asked Bastian as they watched Iolo pace the narrow dressing room from the relative safety of the brown leather couch.

 

“Nothing,” Bastian replied, his hands clasped and hanging between his knees as he perched on the back of the sofa.  “No one can calm him down when he gets like this.”  Iolo muttered darkly and incomprehensible as he reached a wall and spun on his heel and stomped back, eyes hard and unfocused.  Finn looked up Bastian for some kind of explanation and the older man sighed.  “I’m telling you, even Poe stays out of the way when Lo’s mad.”

 

“But what’s he mad about?”

 

“You serious,” Bastian asked, goggling down at Finn’s concerned expression.  “Have you looked at Tyler lately?”

 

“I look at him all the time!”

 

“Yeah?  Do you remember what he looked like back in Boston,” Bastian pressed, cocking an eyebrow.  Finn frowned, thinking.

 

“His hair was different,” he allowed, and Bastian rolled his eyes.

 

“He wasn’t a skeleton with prison pallor and two seconds from a nervous breakdown.”

 

“He’s _not_ \--,”

 

“He is,” Iolo snapped, emerging from his fog to catch the end of the exchange.  He trained his hard blue eyes on Finn, who shifted a little into Bastian’s calf.  “What the fuck have you been doing to him?!”  

 

“I haven’t done anything to him,” Finn countered, crossing his arms.  “He’s a little worn down ‘cause--,”

 

“ _A little worn down_ ,” Iolo repeated incredulously, hands flying to his hair.  “Fucking southern understatement—I can’t wait to see what you think _not great_ looks like!”

 

“He was fine until Eli Upton broke his wrist.”

 

“Who the hell is that,” Bastian asked as Iolo resumed his pacing.

 

Finn twisted his face in surprise.  “He’s the lead guitarist for _Parallel to Sunrise_.”  Iolo and Bastian shook their head in unison, Iolo adding a low growl of frustration.  “They’re the main act—guys, they were nominated for a Grammy last year!  How do you not know them?”

“Not my thing,” Iolo grumbled as Bastian asked,

 

“What kind of Grammy?”

 

“Oh my God,” Finn groaned, slapping a hand over his face.

“Right, whatever, and what does that have to do with Tyler,” Iolo pressed, grabbing a beat-up chair from the make-up bench and sitting, his arms crossed over the back.

“Well,” Finn drew out, eyeing Iolo like he was a ticking timebomb, “see, everyone thought the tour would get cancelled.  But the money and everything—Matt offered to stand in for Eli, because Matt’s the better guitarist.  But Ty has the range and…and everyone said it would only be for a week until they got the replacement up to scratch.  But that was three weeks ago.”

“So, you’re telling me Tyler’s been preforming with two bands for almost a month,” Iolo stated flatly.

 

Finn winced.  “But he’s holding it to together, honestly.  I mean, he’s tired and he had to learn a whole new playlist and I guess playing three hours a night isn’t a walk in the park--,”

 

“And he isn’t eating,” Iolo added with a tight frown.

 

“That’s--he forgets,” Finn mumbled with a hint of embarrassment, and Bastian gulped at the tightening jaw and flash of anger in Iolo’s eyes.

 

“ _Forgets_ ,” Iolo asked quietly with the bare minimum of restraint.

 

“Sometimes--I mean, he does eat, _has been_ eating.  But with all the shows and-and their manager is a lunatic.  Matt says--,”

 

“I’ll bet Matt says a lot of crap,” Iolo snapped.  “But what does that have to do with Ty _forgetting_ to eat?!"

 

Finn opened his mouth to reply but the door from backstage swung open and the fraternal twins traipsed into the dressing room.

 

“So that was the most excitin’ thing since Ty nearly lost his toe back in Atlanta,” the woman with dark red hair that reached the small of her back announced loudly.  Iolo blinked, taken aback, and she swooped over to him, grinning down at him and her pierced navel even with his eyes.  “You’re the mystery guy, aren’t ya?  I’m Tara, that’s Clyde, but y’all don’t care.  Tell me somethin’, I’ve been tryin’ to have a threesome with Ty since we were seventeen, but he keeps bein’ a wet blanket.  But if you’re down--,”

 

“Tyler said there’s too much to pay attention to in a threesome,” Bastian supplied, and Tara’, Clyde’, and Finn’s head snapped in his direction.  “What, he did.”

 

“Wait, which one of you is Lo,” Clyde asked suspiciously.  Iolo raised his hand obligingly, and Clyde clicked his tongue.  “Could’ve gone either way, really.  Yo, Tarzan, are we supposed to match tonight?”

 

“Nah, it’s you ‘n Matt, me ‘n Ty,” Tara replied with a shrug before refocusing on Iolo.  “So is that a no or what?  I don’t even need to participate really—I just think Ty would look freakin’ gorgeous when he orgasms, yeah?  But _apparently_ it’s weird to ask to watch your bandmate gettin’ fucked--,”

 

“It is,” Clyde supplied helpfully as he hiked a duffle bag onto the makeup counter and started riffling through it.

 

“He said he was flattered,” Tara shot at her brother, who shot a bland look back.

 

“He’s _flattered_ that the sun decided to shine today.”

 

“It’s a hard no from me,” Iolo interrupted flatly, “and maybe while you were imagining my—Tyler having sex, you could have been paying a little more attention to him with his clothes on.”

 

“Trust me, we’re payin’ him tons of attention,” Clyde grumbled as he pulled out a white t-shirt from the bag.

 

“He’s worried about the eating thing,” Finn told the two present members of _Cut for Time_ while Clyde stripped off his shirt in exchange for the white one and Tara moved to take the seat next to Iolo, facing the wall-length mirror.

 

“Oh that.  Yeah, that sucks,” Tara said while holding up her hand.  A second later a green and pink make-up bag hit her palm, tossed by her twin over Iolo’s head, and she dropped it into her lap while Iolo frowned tightly.  “If it helps, Ty always snaps out of it.  We know what to watch out for by now.  Eating’s low priority.  Always been like that.”

 

“He’s always goes for extended periods of time with nourishment,” Iolo asked, his voice tremoring with anger, and Bastian slid down to sit on the couch, reaching out to squeeze the blonde’s wrist in support.

 

“Now, hold on a sec.  I'm not sayin' it's okay, but he's not doin' what you think he's doin',” Clyde dismissed, looking at his reflection as he rubbed gel between his palms.  “Ty’ll be fine once--,”

 

“Look at him right now,” Iolo growled, “and tell me he’s fine.”

 

“The thing is,” Bastian cut in, switching his grip from Iolo’s wrist to fingers, “it’s kinda not good to go without food for long periods of time, you know what I mean?”

 

“Tyler knows that,” Finn mentioned, bumping his shoulder against Bastian’s.  “He’s not an idiot.”

 

“Nah, he’s too damn smart,” Tara agreed, sharpening her eyeliner pencil.  “He knows his voice sounds better if he doesn’t eat right before he performs.”

 

“So he doesn’t eat before lights up,” Clyde continued, taking the blue bandana from his back pocket and wiping the excess gel from his hands.  “But there’s soundcheck too…”

 

“Okay, so he won’t eat before soundcheck,” Tara picked up, and Iolo bowed his head and groaned, catching on.  “Still plenty of time in the day.”

 

“Unless he’s got practice sessions with _Sunrise_ all morning,” Clyde pointed out mildly, tossing the bandana on the counter.

 

“And he’s dead on his feet by the end of the night,” came Matt’s voice before the man entered the crowded dressing room, looking contrite, “so he passes out and doesn’t even realize he’s been livin’ on water and Gatorade all day.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Tara said without looking away from her reflection as she swooped her eyeliner into a cat’s eye.

 

“Yeah, it is,” Matt sighed, closing the door and leaning back against it.  “I know it, Finn knows it, _they_ know it,” he went on pointing between Bastian and Iolo. 

 

“You don’t have to yell at him,” Finn snapped, and Iolo realized Finn had been saving himself for who he had deemed the real culprit.

 

“I’m a little stressed, Finn,” Matt grunted through clenched teeth.  “I know you don’t care, but I’m kinda the one holdin’ this shitshow together right now.”

 

“Standin’ _right_ here,” Clyde mentioned, turning and leaning against the counter with an unimpressed look at the guitarist.

 

“It’s not all about you, dumbass,” Matt drawled, eyes narrowing into a glare.  Clyde’s upper lip twisted into a snarl while his twin hummed in warning as she applied blush with her fingertips.  Matt rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to continue when he stumbled suddenly forward as the door pushed in.

 

Tyler took one step into the now overcrowded narrow room, surveyed the occupants with a quick scan of his shockingly gray eyes before his lips rose into a lazy smile, lids drooping with ease.  “All my favorite people together,” he announced, taking another step and letting the door swing back, “plus Tarzan,” he added teasingly.  Tara held up her middle finger casually, but Iolo looked around in wonder at how every single person in the room relaxed, as if the strings holding them tense had suddenly been cut.  “Clyde, that riff you threw in _God Laughed_?  Man, I felt that in my bones.  We gotta keep it,” Tyler went on, moving to high-five the drummer, who nodded with a fond look.

 

“You got it,” Clyde agreed, tugging on the aglets on the end of Tyler’s hoodie strings before the singer slid around Iolo’s back, his hand trailing across the blonde’s shoulders on his way to the bassist.

 

“Tara, you need to bump up your amp.  If they can hear me over ya, we’re doin’ somethin' wrong,” Tyler joked, draping himself over her back and riffling through the makeup bag in her lap.  “You got any more of that cream stuff you put on my face?  It smelled like flowers and made me feel all pretty.”

 

“Yeah, here,” Tara smiled in amusement, holding up a small glass jar.  “Can we wear green tonight?  I look so hot in green and you look like a sexy Peter Pan.”

 

“Done, I’ll grab that shirt from the bus in a minute,” Tyler said brightly, taking the moisturizer and shoving it in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.  He straightened and turned his attention, his smile widening slightly.  “Now, _you_.  _You_ got some explainin’ to do, sweetheart.”

 

“Surprise,” Finn replied, his voice rising uncertainly as he shot a glance at Iolo, who had a thoughtful look on his face.

 

“How long were ya keepin’ this under your hat,” Tyler asked, laughing as he moved with all the gracefulness of a cat.  He perched on the arm of the couch, slung his arm around Finn’s shoulders, and squeezed him into a hug, Finn leaning against him with a hesitant smile.

 

“Nah, they just showed up,” Finn countered, looking up at the singer.  Tyler grinned back, bowing down to plant a quick kiss on Finn’s forehead.  “They didn’t even tell Poe.”

 

“Wise move,” Tyler praised, looking through his lashes at Bastian, who gulped, eyes going wide.  “It’s great to see ya, Bastian.  Hope you weren’t dragged here or somethin’?”

 

“No,” Bastian blurted out.  “Nope, no, not at all.  Happy to be included—I mean, it’s great to see you again.  Yeah.”

 

Finn slowly turned his head to the man sitting beside him, who ducked his head with a sigh.  Slight movement drew Finn’s eye to the still-clasped hands, Iolo’s squeezing Bastian’s, and Finn’s brows drew together as Bastian and the blonde exchanged a quick look.

 

“Lo, I don’t know what to say,” came Tyler’s voice and Finn watched Iolo release Bastian’s fingers.

 

“Well, I hope that’s a good thing,” Iolo said lightly, notching his arms across the back of his chair.

 

“It’s easily the best surprise of my life,” Tyler replied with open sincerity, and Iolo was off the chair in a breath, crossing to the singer in a step and wrapping him in his arms, Tyler’s rising to wrap over Iolo’s hipbones.

 

“It won’t be the last,” Finn heard Iolo whisper before drawing the singer into a deep kiss, the slimmer man molding against the broad chest he was pressed to.  Finn looked away to offer some token privacy, wondering if he should tell everyone to get out, only to be distracted by the clenched jaw and hard eyes of Bastian, studying on the couple.

 

Clyde and Matt wolf-whistled pointedly, but when Finn looked their way he saw the bandmates staring at the same man he was watching. 

 

“Christ, I don’t get any kinda break, huh,” Tyler groaned as he pulled away, lifting one of his hands to stroke Iolo’s stumbled cheek.  “Forgot how gorgeous you are.  Video chat doesn’t do ya justice.”

 

Iolo exhaled deeply, shaking his head.

 

“Y’all wanna maybe get a room or somethin’,” Tara suggested, twisting in her seat and cocking an artistic eyebrow.

 

“Love to but should probably take care of some other stuff first,” Tyler answered without looking away from Iolo’s face.  “You hungry?”

 

Iolo blinked in shock.  “Uh—yeah.  Yeah, definitely.  Are you?”

 

Tyler shrugged, tilting his head to the left.  “Not really, but you should eat.  Finn, you wanna show these guys that gyros place you found?  Get some dinner before the show.  I’ll set y’all up with a spot in the house when ya get back.”

 

“You coming with us,” Bastian asked casually as he got to his feet, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his shorts.

 

“Wish I could, man, but I need Matt to teach me how to play guitar in the next twenty minutes,” Tyler said, shooting a grimace to the tallest occupant, who frowned.

 

“That damn bridge,” Matt asked.

 

“That damn bridge,” Tyler agreed tiredly.  “My fingers don’t move that fast.  Nothin’ in me moves that fast.”

 

“Good to know,” Tara commented.

 

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that, actually,” Clyde began, scratching his earlobe.

 

“What, Ty’s constipation,” Tara asked cheerfully.

 

“Ew,” Tyler spat, his face twisting in comic disgust while Iolo and Bastian snorted.

 

“No,” Clyde rolled his eyes.  “We all know that Matt’s the one who can’t--,”

 

“—shit for the stick up my ass,” Matt finished blandly.  “You were gonna say somethin’ we care about?”

 

“Ty can’t get the fingering,” Clyde went on easily, “so why not play up what he can do?”

 

There was a moment’s silence and then: “I like it, but how’s he gonna have wall sex with everyone at the concert?”

 

“Shut up, Tara,” Tyler said without any heat, running his palm up Iolo’s spine soothingly as the blonde’s head snapped in the bassist’s direction angrily.

 

“You think he should sing it,” Matt asked, eyes narrowing in thought.

 

“It would bring down the house,” Clyde shrugged.  “He hits that C and they’ll go nuts.  Remember back in Raleigh?”

 

“Do you think _Sunrise_ will go for it,” Tyler asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

 

“Sure, but are you up for it?  They’re already running you ragged,” Matt pointed out with an edge—Iolo wondered if it was concern.

 

Tyler smirked, a spark lighting his eyes as he held up his chin.  “I’m up for it.”

 

Matt and Tyler stared at each other across the room for a long suspended pause and then Matt clapped his hands, the vibrations bouncing off the walls.  “Right.  Finn, go eat—and take our guests with ya.  Clyde, I need ya to work your charms on Kim--,”

 

“On it.”

 

“—and, Tara, do the final stage check before they open the doors,” Matt went on before pointing at the singer.  “You’re with me.”

 

“After the show, I promise it’s just you and me,” Tyler told Iolo as he gently pushed the blonde backwards so he could stand up.  “We’ll kick someone outta the hotel, or take the tour bus--,”

 

“Tour bus, unless you changed your mind and packed up your shit,” Clyde cut in.

 

“I kinda prefer it,” Tyler informed Iolo with an apologetic grimace.  “But we can--,”

 

“I don’t give a fuck where we are,” Iolo interrupted the beginning of the rambling smoothly, holding Tyler’s neck between his palms without pressing.  “Just—try to relax and—don’t worry about me, okay?”

 

“Kinda askin’ for the moon and stars here, aren’t ya,” Tyler teased, rubbing his thumbs along Iolo’s side.

 

Iolo cast a glance at the other occupants of the room before leaning in, his lips against the shell of the singer’s ear.  “Seriously.  It looks like you’re taking care of everyone right now,” he whispered.  Tyler ducked his head bashfully with a huff, and Iolo nosed his temple soothingly.  “Tonight, okay?  You and me.  I’ll take care of everything.”  Tyler’s head popped up, eyes blown wide, and Iolo met the look of amazement calmly and steadily.  A hesitant, hopeful smile tugged at the corners of Tyler’s lips, and Iolo’s heart pulled painfully.

 

“Sorry,” came Matt’s voice, and he looked sincerely contrite when Iolo looked his way.  “But Ty, we need to…”

 

“Yeah, I know,” the singer nodded, his voice husky and he quickly cleared his throat, side-stepping away from the blonde.  “Uh, Finn.  Come here for a sec?”  Iolo and Finn dodged each other, switching places so Finn could lean into Tyler as Iolo clapped Bastian on the shoulder.  “Here, take this,” Tyler mumbled to the teenager, holding out his brown leather wallet.  “Make sure you pay for whatever they get too, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Finn nodded, taking the object and sliding it into his back pocket.  “And Bastian and me can stay in the hotel.  Give y’all some space?”

 

“If ya don’t mind, I’d really like that,” Tyler said with a sigh of relief.  “Thank ya.”

 

“Course,” Finn grinned before jabbing Tyler’s abdomen twice with gentle taps of his fists.  “Remember, condoms and lube are your friends and--,”

 

“And now you’re gonna get lost,” Tyler announced loudly, shoving Finn lightly towards the second door.  “I’ll look for ya out there later.”

 

“Hey, anyone want us to bring back anything to eat,” Bastian asked the group, refraining from flinching as every member of _Cut for Time_ turned to him, three with looks of warning and one unconcerned.

 

“Nah, I’m good, but thanks for askin’,” Tyler answered easily, throwing a wink at Bastian.  “Enjoy.  See y’all in a bit.  Matt, there’s a piano on stage right…”

 

And with that Tyler and Matt exited, Matt casting another considering look over his shoulder before following.  Tara groaned, tossing her head back.  “Watch it with all the eatin’ talk,” she stated.  “Ty is all laid back and chill ‘til you push him.”

 

“Interesting,” Bastian muttered under his breath, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand under his chin.

 

“Nice try,” Iolo allowed, dropping his arm to rest around Bastian’s waist.  “Finn, should we get going?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll meet ya outside.  Just gonna grab my—phone real quick,” Finn explained, smiling widely, eyes following the two friends as the walked in tandem out of the dressing room and into the hall, now bustling with activity as showtime drew closer.  As soon as the door shut, Finn’s face fell, and he turned to Clyde.  “Did you see--,”

 

“Drop it, Finn,” the drummer sighed, shaking his head as he twisted back to the mirror, tilting his head to the right and left, inspecting his hair.

 

“You totally saw it,” Finn accused, crossing his arms.

 

“Course, we’re not blind,” Tara answered, combing her fingers through her hair and pulling it over her shoulder.  “But you’d be smart to keep your nose outta it.”

 

“They couldn’t keep their hands off each other,” Finn hissed, jerking his head towards the door to the hall.  “Right in front of him and everything!”

 

“Listen to me, little man” Clyde urged, his reflected eyes meeting Finn’s.  “Ty’s got enough on his plate.  If he wants to ignore his man’s sidepiece then, God damn it, we’re gonna ignore it.”

 

“And then when Lo was with Ty, Bastian just sat there and glared at them like--,”

 

“Finn Storm Skywalker,” Tara interjected harshly, getting to her feet with her hands on her hips.  “You are gonna forget you saw anything.  You are gonna go to dinner; you’re not gonna say a word to them about any of this.  And later—after the tour— _maybe_ we’ll talk to Ty, but not a second before.”  Finn scowled, and the bassist glowered right back.  “Fine.  But think about Tyler.  Do you want to do that to him right now?  On top of everything else, you wanna break his heart too?”

 

An image flinted through Finn’s mind—Tyler crumbled on the mattress on the floor, his shoulders shaking soundlessly, his face pressed to the thin pillow, and Matt’s hands suddenly under his armpits, picking him up and carrying him away, closing the door on the trembling man and saying they were going out to eat that night, that Tyler was tired and couldn’t come with…

 

“No, I—I never want that,” Finn responded, blinking.

 

“Then we didn’t see anything and that’s that,” Tara said firmly.  “Now get going or else you won’t have time before light’s up.”

 

*****

  

Iolo had been positive that nothing could compare with seeing Tyler on that dingy karaoke stage, hearing his voice ring out in person for the first time after listening to recordings for months, the thrill, the heart-stopping shock…

 

But that didn’t come close to seeing the singer on a huge stage that he somehow made small, singing to a screaming crowd that he could silence with a trill and a smile…

 

Iolo had mentally prepared himself to hear _She Talks to Angels_ again, but he still found himself sniffing and blinking back tears as Tyler sat on a black three-leg stool in the single spotlight, his blond wood acoustic guitar balanced between his chest and bent leg while Finn leaned against Iolo’s right side and Bastian on his left, one hand covering his mouth, the other holding Iolo’s too tightly…

 

When the main act took the stage, Tyler shifted from center stage to stage right.  But Iolo knew he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t look away from him, even when he wasn’t singing or exchanging jokes with the other men on stage.  At one point, he was standing back, out of the light, his head bowed in concentration as he played, his right foot pressing on the effects pedal, and Iolo was so mesmerized he didn’t realize the lead singer had dove into the crowd…

 

Iolo didn’t need Finn shouting in his ear to know something big was about to happen as the lead singer bounced back mid-song and pointed to his right with a barely audible laugh.  Tyler stepped up to his mic stand, the gold-tinted light hitting him and his eyes glazing over as he abruptly stopped playing, drew the mic close to his lips and, from a low rumble, raised his voice higher and higher—the screams of the crowd escalating with each step until Iolo found himself shouting in shock as Tyler’s voice pierced almost unnaturally and Bastian jumped up and down, hands above his head…

 

Iolo barely noticed Finn pushing him towards a door labeled ‘Staff Only’ as the two bands took the stage for a final bow.  It wasn’t until the two stumbled into the overly bright hall that Iolo, blinking away the spots in his vision, realized that Bastian wasn’t with them.  He doubled back, opening the door a crack, and saw Bastian standing where they had left him, looking lost and confused.  Iolo waved him over, and Bastian bounded over, relief radiating off him as he ducked into the hall and promptly drew Iolo into a crushing embrace.  Iolo snorted, but patted Bastian on the back reassuringly while wondering why Finn was standing there glaring at them…

 

*****

 

Iolo frowned at how easily he was able to lift Tyler, half-asleep and boneless, off the inset couch of the tour bus.  The singer let out a soft hum, his eyes staying closed as his head lulled against the blonde’s shoulder.  Iolo hushed gently, carrying him through the narrow aisle of the bus, past the small bathroom stall and the double set of bunkbeds to the larger bed in the back.  The blonde hiked one knee onto the mattress before bowing at his waist to lay the dozing man down, head falling against the pillow, his long brown and blue hair fanning out. 

 

Tyler shivered slightly as his still-heated skin met the cool sheets.  Iolo smiled at that, petting a hand along the singer’s concave abdomen before turning to look around, spotting the open duffle bag next to the red backpack he recognized.  He crossed over, tugging on the drawstring of his sweatpants which were threatening to slip off his hips, tying a quick knot before picking out a pair of blue plaid boxers from the bag.  Walking back over, he noticed Tyler watching him under his lashes, one arm over his head, to other draped over his chest, a look of sleepy satisfaction gracing his face.  Iolo grinned back dopily, shaking out the boxers before carefully threading Tyler’s left, then right, foot through the holes before pulling the underwear up.  Tyler lifted his hips obligingly and Iolo let the elastic waistline snap into the indent where slim waist met hipbones.

 

“I could’ve dressed myself,” Tyler mentioned, his voice rough and raspy.

 

“I told you, I’m taking care of it tonight,” Iolo countered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  The blonde reached out and gathered Tyler’s hands in his own, rotating the appendages slowly, inspecting, before placing them lightly back down, satisfied with the lack of bruising or redness.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Tyler murmured, pleased, as his eyelids drifted down again.

 

“When do you need to be up tomorrow,” Iolo asked, keeping his voice low, stroking his fingers along the singer’s scalp.

 

“Ten or somethin’.”

 

“Okay,” Iolo agreed with a small huff of laughter.  “I’m going to set my alarm.  I’ll be back in a second.”

 

“Wake me when ya get back,” Tyler mumbled, turning onto his side and kicking his heels to push the sheets down.  Iolo stood and pulled the fabric down with a quick jerk and then tugging it up, the air catching under the sheet like a kite, lifting it in a swoop before it drifted over Tyler’s form.

 

Iolo hesitated a moment, waiting until he saw the singer settle before backtracking to the small kitchen and living area of the tour bus.  At the small counter next to the even smaller sink, Tyler’ and Iolo’s phones sat side by side, plugged into different chargers.  Iolo picked up his black-encased phone, unlocking it was a quick swipe of his thumb and opening his clock app.  He had just checked _10:00 AM Repeat_ when his screen lit up with an incoming call.

 

“Hey, Bas,” Iolo answered softly.

 

“ _Oh, uh, sorry_ ,” came Bastian’s stammered response through the speaker.  “ _I—I kinda thought I’d leave a message.  Uh, can you hang up and I’ll try this again?_ ”

 

“Nope, what’s up,” Iolo asked, leaning back against the narrow space of counter in the little kitchen area and glancing back down towards the bed space.

 

“ _Well, I was thinking…and I got, like, ten smoothies and juices…_ ”

 

Bastian trailed off and Iolo frowned in confusion.  “Congratulations?”

 

“ _I thought—I mean, thanks, but I had this idea—maybe Tyler would…like one_ ,” Bastian finished lamely, and Iolo blinked.

 

“Oh-kay.  Did he…tell you that?”

 

“ _No, just…something I thought of.  It’s probably dumb but…look, I’m just gonna leave them outside the bus and--_ ,”

 

“Wait, are you out there now?”  Iolo craned his neck around as much as his cellphone charger’s wire would allow.  Out the window he saw a figure with a paper bag and a take-out tray of drinks.  “Oh my God, you freak, don’t lurk like that!  Hold on,” he ordered before ending the call.  Clomping barefoot down the tall steps, Iolo moved to the door and yanked it open, waving Bastian over.  “Jesus, did you buy out the whole shop?”

 

“Kinda,” Bastian replied honestly with a shrug.  “Anyway, here you go.  See ya tomorrow.”

 

“No, wait a sec,” Iolo said even as he let the younger man hand him the tray of technicolor smoothies and the large bag which, with a quick glance, Iolo confirmed was filled with individual servings of juice.  “What’s going on in your head?”

 

“I—think it might help,” Bastian said in a surprisingly small voice that Iolo had never heard before.  “Just pretend I got them for you and play it cool.”

 

“I seriously have no idea what--,”

 

“Havin’ some pow-wow without me?”

 

“I think Bas lost his mind,” Iolo told Tyler, now leaning in the doorway with a sleepy smile on his face.

 

“Like you weren’t talking about wanting a smoothie the whole ride here,” Bastian countered loudly.

 

“I never--,”

 

“Whatever, try to do a nice thing,” Bastian interrupted, speaking over Iolo’s denial with a wide-eyed hinting look.  “Anyway, I didn’t know what flavor, so I just got a bunch.  You can throw out the ones you don’t want or whatever.”  Iolo stared at Bastian, missing the curious look Tyler gave the bright smoothies.  Bastian didn’t.  “Sorry about intruding, but I wasn’t really tired and thought I’d wander around…”

 

“Nah, you’re good,” Tyler assured with a slightly wider smile.  “Y’all come in.  Looks like there’s a smoothie party happenin’.”

 

“You should probably get some sleep,” Iolo began as Tyler turned back into the tour bus, breaking off as Bastian stamped heavily on his foot.  “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Shut the hell up, it’s working,” Bastian hissed before taking the steps in one stride, leaving Iolo to kick the door closed and juggle the drinks against his chest for purchase.  He got to the top of the stairs in time to see Bastian traipse to the back of the bus.  Bewildered, he followed, watching as Tyler settled back in his previous spot while Bastian took the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes before sitting crossed legged and taking the tray from Iolo as soon as he was within arm reach.  “I don’t even know what flavors I got—just pointed at the colors that looked good.  They’re kinda healthy and shit, I think.”

 

“I’m guessin’ the pink is strawberry,” Tyler commented, pulling one of the pillows to hug it lightly to his chest.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Bastian said brightly, wiggling the plastic cup free and holding it out to the gray-eyed man along with a straw.  “You give that one a try and I’ll see what this orange one is.”

 

Iolo’s jaw dropped as Tyler ripped open the paper straw cover and pushed it through the lid, bringing the straw to his lips and taking a long sip.  Bastian did the same with the second of the four smoothie options, careful to keep his eyes down.

 

“Definitely strawberry,” Tyler announced.  “And some banana.”

 

“You can have that one if you want,” Bastian offered very casually.  “I’m not big on strawberries and Lo, despite all appearances, isn’t a banana fan.”

 

Tyler threw his head back in laughter, his whole body shaking with mirth, and Iolo found himself joining in unknowingly.

 

“Lo, what are your thoughts on cantaloupe,” Bastian asked over Tyler’s slowing chuckles.

 

“My favorite melon,” Iolo replied extravagantly, which started the singer off again.  “Help get this juice put away, Bas.”

 

“Yep,” Bastian agreed instantly, clamoring to his feet and placing the takeout tray in the middle of the bed, patting Tyler’s knee before letting Iolo lead him away.

 

“Okay, what kind of voodoo magic, mind trick was that,” Iolo hissed, eyes wide.  Bastian rolled his eyes, dropping to one knee and opening the minifridge.

 

“It’s nothing.  I didn’t know it would work,” he muttered, taking the paper bag out of Iolo’s lax grip and starting to shove bottles into the fridge, around the small Gatorades and soda cans.

 

“I asked if he wanted a milkshake and got turned down point-blank,” Iolo countered in a whisper.

 

“First mistake,” Bastian shook his head.  “You asked.  Obviously asking doesn’t do anything—he just says no, thanks for asking.”

 

Iolo thought back to what he had just witnessed.  “You made it sound like I asked for the smoothies,” he stated slowly.

 

“Yeah, so he didn’t have a chance to turn them down,” Bastian went on, angling a bottle of bright green juice onto the stuffed top shelf.

 

“How did you know he’d even try them,” Iolo pressed, crouching next to the younger man, who shrugged again, not looking the blonde’s way.

 

“Well, Matt said he’s drinking water and stuff…  I figured smoothies are basically the same thing, but a little better.  Like, they have vitamins, right?”

 

“So, you went out in the middle of the night, in a city you don’t know, to find healthy smoothies because you had a hunch that if you showed up and handed him one he might drink it?”

 

“It worked with my best friend in high school,” Bastian explained quietly, closing the fridge.

 

Iolo swallowed, studying Bastian’s profile, cast in shadows from the streetlight outside.  “You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”

 

“Just—I wanted to help you guys,” Bastian shrugged uncomfortably. 

 

Iolo stared a little longer before nodding slowly and standing up, holding out his hand to pull Bastian to his feet.  “Thanks.  You didn’t need to do that, but I’m really fucking glad you did.”

 

Bastian kept his head down, not meeting Iolo’s gaze.  “It’s nothing.  Let’s just—get back before he thinks we’re talking about him or something else crazy.”  Iolo smirked but nodded, giving the younger man a little shove back toward the bed.  Bastian twisted back and pushed Iolo into the open sliding door of the bathroom.  Cackling, Iolo caught himself against the toilet tank and bounded back, catching Bastian by the shoulders before he realized the other man had frozen.

 

“Uh,” Tyler began guiltily, an empty cup discarded on the bedside table and a new one, filled with thick purple liquid in his hands.  “Did—did one of you want this…?”

 

“No, I was eyeing the green one, and Lo’s already declared his undying devotion to cantaloupe,” Bastian answered quickly, flopping onto the mattress.  Iolo exhaled deeply and gratifyingly as he watched Tyler nestle back against the low headboard.  “Green’s my favorite color,” he went on, and Iolo noticed how the prattling seemed to relax the singer more as Tyler’s lazy smile returned.  “And can I just say, I totally got the whole sexy Peter Pan look you were going for tonight.”

 

This time Iolo joined in with Tyler’s hysterical laughing.   


	2. Saturday, July 21st

Finn drummed his fingers nervously against the dark-stained wood of the communal table at the coffee shop he’d taken refuge in.  His head was cradled in his left palm and his eyes stared at his cellphone sitting beside the oversized white bowl of coffee.  After another minute of weighing his options, Finn inhaled deeply through his nose, sat up straight, and swiped his phone off the tabletop, unlocking it and clicking the ‘Call’ button before he could chicken out.

 

One ring.

 

Two rings.

 

“ _I was just about to call you, babe.  I’m--,_ ”

 

“Wait, Poe, I need to go first,” Finn interrupted and then swallowing drily.

 

“ _Yeah, sure thing, buddy.  Where are you, what’s going on_ ,” Poe asked, his voice bright and cheery through Finn’s speaker.

 

“Where—where am I,” Finn repeated blankly, blinking.  A thought poked in the back of his mind and Finn’s eyes narrowed.  “I’m at some Swedish coffee place in Brooklyn.”

 

“ _That one you mentioned yesterday?_ ”

 

“Oh my God, where are you,” Finn asked flatly, looking over his shoulder.  The sound of hollow tapping both in his ear pressed to his phone and his unencumbered ear drew his attention to the front window.  Despite his mood, Finn found his face softening into a smile at the sight of Poe, dressed in shorts and a blue button-up, sleeves rolled, with a bag slung over his shoulder, waving through the glass.  “You’re so dopey.”

 

Poe laughed joyously and then he ended the call, moving to the door.  Finn got to his feet as Poe dodged inside, the door held open by a woman with a small fluffy dog under her arm.  He nodded his thanks with that charming smile Finn remembered from Boston, and the two moved in unison until their arms were curled around each other and parted lips met.  It wasn’t a great kiss because neither could stop smiling, but they drew a smattering of applause from the other occupants.

 

“Well, that’s kinda embarrassing,” Poe mumbled with a rueful smile as he pulled away and offered a little wave around the café.

 

“ _You’re_ kinda embarrassing,” Finn countered, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.  Poe hummed in agreement, his eyes scrunching as his wide smile returned, and Finn gave him a small shove with a laugh.  “I knew you were gonna do it.  Last night when you were askin’ for _way_ too many details about where the hotel was.”

 

“I can’t get shown up by Lo,” Poe grimaced, lowering himself to sit on the empty stool beside Finn’s.  “I like the guy, but he’s as romantic as an eighty-year-old man.  Can I,” he asked, pointing at Finn’s abandoned full cup of coffee.  Finn nodded, sitting back down as the older man took a quick gulp.  “Black.  You understand coffee,” Poe praised idly with a smile.

 

“Not even a first-day barista can mess up that order,” Finn explained with a shrug.  “How long are you here for?”

 

“I’ll ride back with Lo and Bas on Sunday,” Poe replied, smiling across at Finn’s face almost dazed and Finn grinned back, reaching out and squeezing Poe’s knee.  Poe dropped one of his hands to cover Finn’s.  “So, you wanted to tell me something?”

 

Finn’s face instantly dropped, and Poe’s brow creased in concern, taking another sip of the lukewarm coffee.  “I lost Bastian,” Finn declared with regret.

 

“Well, he had a good run,” Poe said breezily, holding back his laughter with a smirk at the patently flabbergasted look shot his way.  “I vote we find a replacement a few decibels quieter.  Maybe a sweet, considerate guy for a change of pace.”

 

“I’m bein’ serious,” Finn stated, unamused, and Poe exhaled heavily through his nose.  “He was supposed to stay at the hotel with me, but he said he wasn’t tired, was gonna wander around—I thought he meant in the hotel!  But I fell asleep and he wasn’t there when I woke up and Matt said he never saw him and Matt’s an insomniac so he definitely would’ve--,”

 

“Okay, sorry.  Here,” Poe began, shifting to face Finn and taking both of the younger man’s hands in his own, “I’m gonna teach you the little motto we have about Bastian, alright?”  Poe waited for Finn to nod before continuing, “You are not responsible for Bastian Price.”

 

Finn blinked once, twice.  “But--,”

 

“Nope,” Poe interrupted firmly.  “You are not responsible for Bastian Price.”

 

“I told Lo I’d--,”

 

“You.  Are.  Not.  Responsible.  For.  Bastian.  Price,” Poe drew out slowly with conviction.  “Trust me, it will drive you insane if you try.  He does exactly what he wants, when he wants.  No one can control him, no one can stop him, no one can change him.  I—it took me a long time to figure that out.  The only way you can be friends with the guy is to let him do his thing and bail his ass out when he goes too far.”

 

Finn frowned, mulling that information over.  “So…I shouldn’t be worried that he’s vanished in New York City and might be floating in the river or something?”

 

“Well,” Poe said, considering.  “There’s only an outside chance of that.  Really, you shouldn’t worry until you’ve checked with Lo.”

 

“Why’s that,” Finn asked, his eyes narrowing unobserved as Poe finished the coffee with a final swig.

 

“If anything went south, he would go to Lo for help,” Poe answered, blasé.  “I’m guessing when you called Bas five hundred times you just got the answering machine, which is full, right?”  Finn nodded wordlessly, and Poe’s smile turned exasperated.  “Some things never change.  Come on, let’s find out what’s up.”

 

“Go where,” Finn inquired, getting to his feet all the same in time with Poe.

 

“Wherever Lo is.”

 

“Wait!  No—we can’t,” Finn stammered, hurrying after the older man as he exited the café.  “Lo’s—occupied.”

 

“Huh,” Poe asked, bemused as he looked around the street, starting to fill up on Saturday morning.

 

“He’s with Tyler.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Poe acknowledged with a chuckle.  “We’ll make it quick.  I’ll ask through the hotel door if you want.”

 

“They stayed on the tour bus,” Finn said, dodging out of the way of a pair of powerwalking women.

 

“No shit!  That’s awesome,” Poe beamed.  “Lo’s living his high school fantasy.”  At Finn’s slightly concerned look, Poe rolled his eyes.  “Come on, everyone fantasied about having sex on a tour bus.  It’s basically the introductory wet dream.”

 

“No, it’s not, but I’ll keep that tidbit in mind,” Finn drawled flatly.  Poe’s face blanched and the younger man took the moment to debate his options.

 

“When I said that,” Poe began hastily, “I didn’t mean _me_ \--,”   

 

“Okay, we’ll check in with Lo, but we gotta make it quick,” Finn decided, spinning on his heel and starting off down the street, Poe jogging to catch up.  “I don’t want to bother Tyler with it.”

 

“Sure sure,” Poe agreed quickly, thankful for the change in topic.  “In and out—do not stop, do not collect five hundred dollars.”

 

Finn hummed in tacit agreement without paying any attention to what the older man was saying.  They crossed the street with the light and Finn led them around the corner and down the block.  Poe’s voice continued beside him, and when he paused for breath, Finn interjected.  “What’s the deal with Iolo and Bastian?”

 

If Poe thought anything was strange about the question, he didn’t show it.  “I dunno.  I was kinda surprised that Lo let Bas tag along on this trip.  But they’ve been texting a lot this summer.  Maybe Bastian bugged him to death and Lo just gave in.”

 

“They’ve been texting a lot,” Finn repeated questioningly as they turned right at the next corner.

 

“Yeah.  I thought he was talking to Tyler, actually,” Poe shrugged.

 

“Have they been hanging out,” Finn prodded, slowing his pace.

 

“Nah, Bastian’s been in Michigan for the past month.  Just got back the day before yesterday,” Poe replied, eyes drifting to the shop window which displayed colorful condoms artistically.  Brooklyn.

 

“But—have they always been close?”

 

Poe burst out laughing, head falling back as his chest heaved.  A few tears wormed out of the corner of his eyes and Finn marveled at how the sunlight glinted over the older man’s face as he steered Poe away from walking into a pile of trash bags.  “F-f-fuck,” Poe stuttered, gasping.  “H-have they b-been cl-close!”

 

Finn waited for the answer as Poe caught his breath and rubbed his wrists against his eyes, dashing away the tears.  “So,” the younger man prompted.

 

“Lo fucking _hated_ Bastian,” Poe answered, chuckling to himself with a bright smile.  “Couldn’t stand him.  See, here’s the thing,” he went on, slinging an arm around Finn’s shoulders, “Lo was my roommate when Bas and I were…doing whatever.  And Lo never hid the fact that he didn’t like it when Bastian came over or hung out.  Lo thought he was annoying and immature and basically a terrible person.  And then when Bas blew me off, I kinda agreed with him, you know?  Like, shit-talking your ex with your roommate just happens.”

 

“Right, I get that,” Finn nodded, wondering where the story was going.

 

“Right.  Well, I didn’t see Bastian for the rest of the semester, and I kinda forgot about him.  Then I run into him at the party, and he was still loud and annoying as shit, but it was obvious he wasn’t flirting.  So we got to talking, and I guess we found some middle ground.  We started to hang out again—he even stayed over in my dorm room a few nights— _just sleeping_ ,” he stressed, and Finn cracked a smile, nodding again in acceptance.  “Iolo was so mad.  He said I was slipping, letting Bastian take advantage of me.  He laid down the law: either Bastian left or he did.”

 

“Wow,” Finn murmured, eyes wide.

 

“Yeah, don’t mess with Iolo,” Poe said seriously.  “Anyway, I told Bas he couldn’t stay over anymore and that was that.  And then, get this shit,” he went on, rolling his eyes at the memory as Finn pulled him down the alley beside the venue, “a month after all this goes down, I come back from studying in the library at one in the morning.  Iolo is sitting at his desk, eating ramen and watching some movie on his laptop—which was weird because he was supposed to be at some party with his girlfriend.  And Bastian is sleeping in Lo’s bed, under the covers and everything.”

 

“Wait, _what_?!”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said!  I’m like ‘what the fuck, Lo?’  And that bastard just keeps eating his ramen with his stupid chopsticks,” Poe said, stopping to mime the action.  “And he calmly informs me that Bastian is going to stay with us for a while.”

 

“You’re kidding me,” Finn gaped, frozen at the door of the tour bus in the parking lot behind the venue.

 

“I can’t make this shit up,” Poe disagreed with a huff.  “And neither of them ever told me what the hell went down.  All I know is Bastian and all his stuff was in our dorm room for three days and then he moved in with Snap down the hall.  No explanation, no nothing.  And Bastian was suddenly our best friend.  We couldn’t go to dinner or a movie without Iolo insisting we took Bas along.  At some point we stopped questioning it and he’s been with us ever since.  Like a feral cat or something.”  Finn kept staring in disbelief, and a thought occurred to the older man.  “What’s with all the Lo and Bas questions, anyway?”

 

“I thought I was bein’ paranoid,” Finn mumbled, glancing towards the bus.  “Now I’m not so sure.”

 

“Paranoid about what?”  Finn shot Poe a calculating look, and Poe sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “What, want me to pinky promise I won’t laugh?  If I break my promise, Rey breaks my pinky, right?”

 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” Finn huffed.

 

“Not every day my pinky fingers get threatened, buddy,” Poe joked.  “You’ll feel better if you tell me.”

 

“I think Bastian has a crush on Lo,” Finn blurted out.

 

Without missing a beat, Poe said, “Bas doesn’t do crushes.  Either he doesn’t think about having sex with someone or he asks them to have sex with him.  There’s no pining, no in-between.”

 

“You didn’t see him watching Lo and Ty yesterday,” Finn countered.  “He looked like he _wanted_ to be where Tyler was.”

 

“Finn, babe,” Poe placated, “I hear you.  But that’s batshit.  And, even if we were in some parallel universe where that could be a thing, Lo would never.  Never in a million years.”  Finn opened his mouth, but Poe held up his hand.  “Seriously, you’re stressing yourself about nothing.  Are they in here?  I’ll go ask real quick.”

 

“What if—they’re busy,” Finn protested, his mind whirling in too many directions as Poe approached the door to the bus and gave it an experimental tug.  It opened, and Poe glanced over his shoulder.

 

“If they’re doing anything, Lo’s too vanilla to shock me.  You can wait out here if you want.”

 

That’s exactly what Finn wanted, but he shook his head, rolled his shoulders back, and followed Poe into the dark bus.  It was silent and airlessly hot as they crept up the stairs.  A quick glance showed that the couch and kitchen areas were empty, which left one option.  Finn hung back, letting Poe head to the back of the bus alone, his eyes on the older man’s back, waiting for some signal.  When Poe froze just before the larger bed in the back, Finn braced himself for shouting.

 

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” Poe hissed, but Finn heard him loud and clear in the silence.  “That’s all we fucking need.”

 

Finn braced himself and marched down the short passage in three and a half steps.  He gave Poe a small shove so he could stand at the foot of the bed beside him, and Finn’s jaw clenched at the sight of Bastian, fast asleep and spooning Iolo from behind, the blonde’s hair fanned over the pillow the two were sharing.

 

“Batshit, huh,” Finn mocked, and Poe’s eyes flashed dangerously.

 

Poe reached out and roughly shook Bastian’s shoulder until the slumbering man let out a soft, slight groan and rolled onto his back, releasing his hold on Iolo’s waist.  Finn watched as Bastian rubbed his cheek against the pillow, his eyes staying closed and his breathing slow and even.  Poe cleared his throat loudly, and Bastian’s nose wrinkled.  Slowly, Bastian’s eyelids parted, and his eyes rolled and deglazed.  He blinked, and Finn saw the exact moment when the other man realized he wasn’t alone.  Slowly, Bastian’s gaze lifted and met Poe’s, and instantly flinched backwards.

 

Iolo grunted as Bastian’s back collided with his, and Poe frowned sternly, crossing his arms.

 

“Poe,” Bastian rasped, eyes now wide with amazement. 

 

Iolo let out another grunt.  “G’back t’ sleep,” the blonde man mumbled, curling himself further around a blanket-covered lump on the bed.

 

“Poe’s staring at me,” Bastian said, shocked gaze shifting from the older man to Finn, who planted his hands on his hips and echoed Poe’s tight scowl.

 

“Bad dream,” Iolo countered sleepily as one of his arms emerged from the sheets and reached back blindly, patting Bastian’s chest.  “Poe’s in Boston.”

 

“No, he’s not,” Poe interrupted loudly.

 

Iolo lifted his head and strained his neck to look down the bed, squinting at the standing men with one eye cracked.  “Wha the hell?”

 

“You tell me,” Poe snapped.  “What the fuck are you doing in bed with Bastian?”

 

Iolo frowned in confusion.  He looked over to Bastian, who seemed to be trying to hide himself in Iolo’s bare back.  “You should know—you’re the whack-job watching us sleep.”

 

“Where’s Ty,” Finn demanded.  Both Iolo and Bastian shot him narrow-eyed looks of concern which instantly morphed into pained grimaces as a throbbing, high-pitched siren screamed out in the small confines of the tour bus.

 

“God, _why_ ,” came a tortured groan from the sheets, and Iolo slipped his arm back under the fabric and blindly petted at the smooth shoulder pressed to his chest.

 

“Anyone want to be useful and shut that the hell off,” Iolo drawled loudly over the alarm.

 

“On it,” Bastian said, launching himself out of the bed like an Olympic runner off the starting blocks, dodging between Poe and Finn without making eye contact. 

 

“Seriously, what the fuck,” Poe directed to his roommate, who just shook his head and rolled his eyes up to the low ceiling.

 

“Why the hell is your phone asking for long division,” Bastian hollered, appearing at the foot of the bed with the vibrating, screeching phone in his hand.  Iolo felt more than heard the low moan against his skin and winced.

 

“It’s the lock,” he called across the mattress, holding out his hand.  “Give it.”

 

“I can do it,” Bastian countered with an offended scowl.  “I’m not a moron—I know what two-hundred and seventy-three divided by thirteen is!”

 

“Then why haven’t you shut it off,” Iolo pointed out, and Bastian stuck out his tongue in reply.

 

“It’s twenty-one, make it stop,” declared Tyler, finally poking his head up, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains covering the window above the bed. 

 

Bastian swallowed and frowned, his thumb tapping twice on the phone screen before the alarm shut off.  “Sorry—I’m sorry, Ty,” he said softly, tossing the phone on the mattress beside Iolo and sitting down at the blonde’s feet.  “I’m sorry Lo’s evil and has stupid puzzles guarding his alarm system.”

 

“What the fuck is happening,” Poe muttered over to Finn as Tyler laughed lowly and rubbed a fist against his left eye.

 

“You make me sound like a villain in a Bond movie,” Iolo said, adjusting to sit up and lean his shoulders against the headboard.

 

“You are,” Bastian sassed, and Iolo smiled across the bed at him as Tyler slumped to huddle against the blonde’s side.

 

“I dunno but I don’t think I like it,” Finn grumbled back, and Tyler’s head instantly lifted from Iolo’s pectoral, neck craning to look around Bastian.

 

“Wait, I didn’t dream that?”

 

“No, but I wish,” Bastian answered Tyler with a shifty, almost guilty glance at Poe.  “I’m gonna--,”

 

“Up and at ‘em, tiger,” bellowed a deep voice, followed by the slam of a thin metal door.

 

“That’s _my_ alarm,” Tyler told Iolo before collapsing to lie flat on his back, arms thrown wide, as Clyde appeared between Poe’ and Finn’s shoulders, taking in the scene with quick darting looks.

 

“There’s ‘bout four more people than I expected in here,” Clyde announced.  “Who are you?”

 

“Poe,” Finn answered.

 

“Ah, nice to meet ya,” Clyde greeted, leaning back to let Bastian slouch past before holding out his hand for Poe’s.  “I’m the one who’s gonna hide your body if ya hurt our little man over here.”

 

“Good to know,” Poe replied unconcerned.  “And you’re…?”

 

“Doesn’t really matter,” Clyde shrugged before directing his attention to the men in bed.  “You decent?”

 

“Yup,” Tyler said to the ceiling.

 

“Cool, you’re blowin’ up on Twitter.”

 

“Damn it, was it that bad?”

 

“Huh,” Clyde asked as his pulled his phone out of his back pocket.  “Was what bad?”

 

“I cracked,” Tyler said, and Iolo watched as a gloomy frown descended over the singer’s face.  “I felt it comin’ and tried to get away from the mic but…”

 

“I don’t remember that,” Clyde commented as he started tapping on his screen. 

 

“You probably weren’t listenin’.”

 

“Matt didn’t say anything.”

 

“What,” Tyler gasped, propping himself on his elbows, jaw dropped.  “Did ya kill him?”

 

“Not yet, but don’t tempt me,” Clyde grinned, glancing up from his screen to shoot a quick wink at the singer.  “Maybe he didn’t notice it either.”

 

“Not Matt.  He knows when I inhale late!”

 

“Yeah, he’s gotta cool it with his obsession--,”

 

“Lo, think fast,” called out Bastian’s voice before a bottle hurtled over the top of Clyde’s head.  Poe ducked on instinct, covering his head, while Iolo batted at the projectile with his palm, sending it down to the mattress.

 

“Yeah, there’s too many of us here,” Clyde mentioned as Bastian wormed his way between him, Finn, and Poe with two more bottles in his hands and knee-walked up the mattress.

 

“Well, I know _two_ people who can get lost,” Iolo said pointedly with a glare at Poe.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“What the hell are _you_ doing here,” Poe exploded, tossing his hands up.  Tyler flinched, and Bastian quickly shoved a bottle of viscous pink liquid into the singer’s grasp.

 

“Strawberry for you,” he announced in an overly cheerful voice.  “Never seen someone down a smoothie that fast.  Lo, you get blueberry.  What’s the shower situation?  Do we tag team this or--?”

 

“Not sure how much water is in the tank,” Clyde cut in.  “You’re better off headin’ to the hotel.  Or there’s probably one backstage somewhere.”

 

“Dibs on backstage,” Tyler announced before unscrewing the cap and taking a gulp of his drink.

 

“Uh, okay,” Clyde said dumbly, watching the singer swallow.  “That’s—new.”

 

Both Iolo and Bastian shook their heads at the drummer, while Tyler dropped his eyes and took another sip.  “I’m gonna—get ready.  Someone—sort this out,” he directed, gesturing vaguely towards Poe and Finn, “because I missed somethin’.”

 

“I’ve got it,” Iolo stated, catching Tyler’s wrist as the gray-eyed man shifted toward the end of the bed.  “Try to take it easy; I’ll catch up with you later.”

 

Tyler’s body melted back, and Iolo quickly surged up to meet him, pressing a soft, modest kiss to the singer’s lips as he supported Tyler’s body against his own.  “Thank ya,” he breathed against the blonde’s lips.

 

“Anytime,” Iolo whispered back, holding Tyler against his chest for another moment before dropping his arm and letting the singer push himself down to the foot of the bed, the bottle of juice squeezed between his knees until his feet the ground.  He got to his feet, passing the juice off to Finn as he threaded by.

 

“So what’s Twitter got to say,” Tyler asked pointedly as he grabbed Clyde’s arm and directed him to the front of the bus, pausing to pick up a pair of jeans that had been discarded by the inset couch.

 

“See for yourself,” the drummer said, casting another glance over his shoulder at the four men and holding out his phone to Tyler, who finished stepping into his jeans with a small hop to pull the waistband over his hips and buttoning his fly.  Tyler snagged the phone but didn’t look at the screen as he headed for the door.

 

Iolo waited until the two bandmates thumped down the steps and the door clicked open and thudded shut before he rounded on Poe.  “Not a word,” he growled as Poe’s mouth opened.  “Not.  A.  Fucking.  Word.  Bas, do you know the way to this hotel?”

 

“Uh huh,” Bastian mumbled, eyeing Poe nervously.

 

“Good.  Finn, give me your key,” Iolo ordered, kicking the sheets off and holding his hand out, palm up.  Finn also glanced at Poe, who had his arms crossed and his lips whitening with the pressure he was pushing on them.  Slowly, Finn pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and drawing a plain white key card from the back slot.  He held it out and Iolo snatched it.  “Now, you two can get lost.  We’ll text you when we’re ready to talk.  Let’s go, Bastian.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Bastian chimed, eyes wide as Iolo marched between Poe and Finn, head held high.  “I’m just gonna…” Bastian mumbled, pointing at Iolo’s back, who was pulling on a shirt, before scurrying after.

 

“Parallel universe,” Finn asked, watching Bastian bounce from one foot to the other as he shoved his shoes on.

 

“Gotta be,” Poe mumbled as Iolo picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and grabbed Bastian’s shoulder and used his grip to guide the younger man off the bus.  “What the fuck is going on?”

 

*****

 

“I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Iolo said, emerging from the florescent-lit bathroom and finishing buttoning his white shirt.  He cast a glance over to the obligatory office chair Bastian was sitting at, spinning himself idly back and forth by his toes with a small frown.  “Seriously, Bas; I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not Tyler,” Bastian replied glumly, still spinning and avoiding Iolo’s gaze.  “That shit doesn’t work on me.”

 

“It did, before,” Iolo pointed out casually as he crossed over to the low padded bench at the end of the made bed.

 

Bastian let out a short humorless laugh.  “Yeah, alright.  But you don’t need to, like, fight my battles anymore.  You know?”

 

Iolo kept his eyes lowered, focused on the laces of his right shoe as the other man trailed off.  The blonde hummed in acknowledgement, looping the ends together.  “Poe’s an idiot,” he mentioned.

 

“They don’t actually think we fucked last night, right,” Bastian asked abruptly.  Iolo opened his mouth to answer but the younger man kept going.  “Like, what, did we lock Ty in the bathroom stall or something?  I mean, I know Poe still thinks I’m a bit of a jerk but I’ve never seduced a guy’s boyfriend while the guy is sitting there drinking smoothies!”

 

“You sure you don’t want me to handle it,” Iolo pressed lightly, finishing the knot on his left shoe and looking across the narrow space to Bastian, spinning a bit faster.

 

“No, I want him to say it to my face!”

 

There was a knock at the door and Bastian halted his spinning instantly.  For a moment, neither man moved; a second, third, and fourth knock came, insistently.

 

“Looks like you’re gonna get what you asked for,” Iolo sighed, pushing himself to his feet and took as much time as he could to cross the five feet from the bed to the door.  He looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked curiously.  Bastian shifted, sitting up straight and tugging at the hem of his white and green t-shirt, and nodded once in reply. 

 

“Don’t play coy now,” called Poe’s irritated voice through the wooden barrier.  “We know you’re hiding in there.”

 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Iolo hissed at his roommate as he pulled the door open with a jerk.  He didn’t wait for Poe and Finn to enter before releasing the handle, letting it swing back until Poe’s hand shot out to stop it.

 

“So, thoughts on breakfast?”

 

“Shut the hell up, Bastian,” Poe snapped immediately, crossing over to the foot of the bed while Iolo leaned against the edge of the desk, his hip brushing against the back of Bastian’s seat.  There was a low, strangled sound and Iolo shot Finn an unamused look, the effect of which was lost because the eighteen-year-old was glaring holes into Bastian, who was doing an impressive job of pretending not to notice.

 

“Cutting right to the chase, huh?  I gotcha, I gotcha,” Bastian babbled, nodding his head.  “Lo, you’ve got to give me a three-foot bubble or else my sexual magnetism is gonna--,”

 

“You’re done,” Poe stated, tone leaving no room for argument.  Bastian’s lips twisted into a scowl but stayed pressed together.

 

“Nice,” Iolo drawled, crossing his arms.  “Here’s a tip for you, Finn,” he continued a little louder, “when Poe gets like this you’ve got to knock him down before he gets going.  Like this, watch me.”  The blonde took two steps forward, planting his feet and placing himself between his roommate and the man who had started to spin his chair again.  “Bas and I did not have sex last night.  Bas and I have never had sex.  End of story.”

 

“I know that, idiot,” Poe scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 

“You _do_ ,” Bastian blurted out, sounding just about overjoyed, and Iolo didn’t have to look to know the younger man was beaming with relief.  “Thank the _Lord_.  I’ll own up to it—I really thought you thought—but you don’t!  If that’s all good, can we get back to the breakfast topic?  I’m feeling pancakes, but I’m flexible--,”

 

“Lo, can you move so I can talk to the other one,” Poe asked with forced pleasantness.

 

“Depends on what you want to say,” Iolo replied honestly.

 

“Bastian’s got a problem with Tyler,” Finn supplied from where he was leaning purposefully against the door.

 

“That is a boldfaced lie,” Bastian retorted, turning his chair to face the eighteen-year-old.  “I think Tyler is a lovely person.  He’s like…” trailing off, Bastian’s face scrunched in thought, “…like that tree in that book.”

 

Iolo and Poe blinked at each other.

 

“Well, you can’t argue with that,” the blonde said finally.

 

“Only ‘cause I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Poe pointed out with exasperation.  Iolo shrugged, not disagreeing.

 

“I saw you,” Finn said, drawing everyone’s attention back.  “I saw you glaring at him yesterday.”

 

“You sure you don’t have me mixed up with Matt,” Bastian asked, tapping his fingers against the arms of his chair.  “Because that guy needs a chill pill.”

 

“You were holding Lo’s hand,” Finn enunciated between clenched teeth, “and glaring at Ty.”

 

“Since when do you two hold hands,” Poe blurted out.

 

“I dunno—we were talking and there were hands,” Iolo dismissed, flicking his hand away in emphasis.

 

“Yeah, that’s not how that went down,” Bastian cut in.  “I wasn’t giving hand jobs to anyone—I want that on the record, man.”

 

“You’re jealous of Lo and Tyler,” Finn stated, annoyed with the tangents.

 

“Yeah, so what?”

 

“Don’t say ‘no’ like—did you say yes,” Poe stammered.

 

“Yeah, but—hold on, I think we got mixed up,” Bastian hurried, looking between Poe and Finn frantically while Iolo sidestepped to the solitary window.  “I’m kinda jealous but not—of them…Well, I guess I wouldn’t be jealous if they weren’t—so I’m kinda jealous of them but it’s more…it,” he finished lamely, shooting a pleading look to the blonde.

 

“Bas, we’ve talked about this,” Poe huffed, two fingers pressed against his left temple and rubbing small circles.  “You need to use your words or else we can’t understand you.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Iolo chided gently, directing a soft smile to Bastian, who gulped visibly.  “Want to reconsider leaving this to me?”

 

“You can’t tell me you got any of that,” Poe groaned, while Finn inched away from the door, his glare shifting to curious.

 

“I got of all it,” Iolo said to Bastian, who exhaled in a long stream and slumped boneless back.  “And I know what tree he’s talking about too.”

 

Bastian grinned up at Iolo.  “It’s got a green cover.”

 

“Yep,” Iolo nodded while Poe and Finn exchanged lost looks.  “Bas, can you do me a favor?”

 

“Sure,” came the instantaneous response.

 

“I think I left my phone back on the bus.  Can you go check, and I’ll meet you in a minute.  Maybe we can see if your voodoo works in daylight too.”

 

“I dunno why I’m even slightly surprised by the shit coming outta your mouth anymore,” Poe muttered, drowned out by Bastian’s merry cackle.

 

“We’ll have to break him out, Alcatraz-style,” Bastian told the blonde cheerfully.  “I’ll distract Matt and you can swoop out all knight-on-a-white-horse and it’ll be awesome.”

 

“See if you can find a horse while you’re at it,” Iolo suggested teasingly.  Bastian flipped his middle finger happily and got his feet.  He moved to the door, and Finn angled to let him pass. 

 

Bastian paused, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth as he scanned Finn.  “I promise, I don’t want to break them up.  If they ever did, I’d probably be devastated.”  And with that, he left the room without looking back, closing the door with a light click behind him.

 

“Okay, I know there’s other stuff, but it’s drivin’ me nuts,” Finn announced, jerking his thumb at the door.  “What’s the tree?”

 

“The Giving Tree,” Iolo said, slumping back against the thick glass of the window and running his hands down his face.  “That kid’s book where the tree gives away everything it has to someone who always needs more.”

 

There was a long stretch of silence and then

 

“Jesus Christ,” Poe breathed. 

 

Meanwhile, mentally assuring himself he wasn’t going to make it a habit of letting Iolo sort things out for him again, Bastian traipsed the six blocks back to the venue with a small skip in his step that no one who passed him seemed to notice or care about.  He knew Iolo didn’t give a fuck about his phone—in fact there was a good chance the bastard had his phone in his pocket right now—but he wanted to get rid of Bastian before he said anything else unhelpful.  Which Bastian resented on a personal level, but also couldn’t really blame the blonde, because it wasn’t the first time Bastian had pissed someone off by saying the wrong thing or looking the wrong way.  And if there’s one thing Iolo was used to, it was covering for Bastian when things got out of hand.  Not that he should be used to that…and Bastian was back to convincing himself that Iolo was not going to be his babysitter anymore.

 

He was silently debating the merits of buying the guy some flowers or playing it off like it was nothing and ignoring the whole thing as he rounded the corner and made a beeline for the two tour buses mindlessly, figuring if nothing else he’d grab another juice because he was pretty sure they had drugs—maybe marijuana—in them because they were straight-up addicting, when a rhythmic thump-thump-smack, thump-thump-smack caught his attention.  Turning on his heel, Bastian caught sight of a lone figure, sitting cross-legged on the blacktop and tossing a tennis ball at the brick and cement wall of the music hall, catching it after it bounced on the ground before lobbing it back.

 

“From what I remember of third grade,” Bastian began, announcing his presence as he approached, “wall ball is more fun with a partner.”

 

Tyler’s lips quaked up into a small smile, glancing up at the man standing over him as he caught the ball in his right hand without looking.

 

“Neat trick.  Can I sit here and look moody and mysterious too,” Bastian asked, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.  Tyler nodded and threw the ball back at the wall.  Bastian folded himself down to sit a few inches to the singer’s left before hissing in pain and scrambling back to perch on the yellow-painted cement bumper Tyler’s lower back was resting against.  “How the hell are you sitting like that?  Dude, that’s, like, two-hundred degrees!”

 

“My ass is kinda hot,” Tyler allowed, voice low with a hint of rasp.

 

“I mean, yeah, but I was talking about the blacktop,” Bastian grinned, and Tyler snorted, catching the ball and rolling it between his palms.  “So, what’s the story?”

 

Tyler exhaled through his nose, squinting up at Bastian who had the sun to his back.  Adjusting, the singer brought his knees to his chest, revealing a small flat square of cardboard, which he handed over.  Bastian tilted his head to the side and read

 

‘ _Tyler Austin is on vocal rest.  If caught talking, apply duct tape._ ’

 

Bastian whistled, impressed.  “Matt is a hardcore motherfucker.”  Tyler hummed in agreement, picking at the frayed knee of his jeans.  “So, you’re actually not talking at all?”

 

“Not where Matt can hear me,” Tyler said with a sly smile and Bastian nodded understandingly.  “Everythin’ good?”

 

“Huh?  Oh, with Poe?  Yeah, no worries,” Bastian shrugged.  “He had his boxers in a twist about missing out on the cuddle party.”

 

“There was a cuddle party,” Tyler asked, brows drawing together in confusion.

 

Bastian swallowed and shrugged again, pulling the tennis ball out of the singer’s hold and rolling it around his palm by his fingers.  “Yeah, you kinda passed out pretty quick.  And Lo thinks I’m a danger to myself so he told me to stay in the bus and I was joking that we should all just cuddle and call it a night.  And then I guess we did.”

 

Tyler appeared to think the information over before nodding.  “Might explain the weird lecture from Clyde.  Somethin’ ‘bout watchin’ my back.”

 

“Fuck,” Bastian groaned, rubbing his free hand over his hair in frustration.  “Don’t listen to that shit.  They’re morons.”

 

“You mean you’re not tryin’ to poison my juice,” Tyler asked teasingly, knocking his head against Bastian’s knee.  Bastian scoffed and rolled his eyes, and Tyler notched his elbow over Bastian’s thigh.  “I ain’t worried, hun.  Who made ya play piano?”

 

“What?”

 

Tyler nodded at Bastian’s upturned hand, where he was mindlessly manipulating the tennis ball around his fingers.  “I’ve done my share of dexterity.”

 

Bastian heard his voice admitting, “My mother thought it might help with my hyperactivity.  She was against giving me drugs, but she tried just about everything else.”  Tyler opened his mouth, but Bastian blurted out, “I’ve never told anyone about that.  Like, it’s not a secret that I’m hyper and weird but I’ve never actually…talked about it.”

 

“I’m told I’m a good listener,” Tyler offered with a half-smile, squinting up again against the sun.  “Besides, I’m not gonna judge ya or anythin’.”

 

“Yeah, well, you should probably be a bit more discerning,” Bastian mentioned, mostly to himself, dropping the ball to bounce in the space between his legs.  Tyler’s hand shot out and caught it, tossing it up in a high arch to catch it in his other hand.  “Show off,” Bastian scolded lightly, stretching out his left leg but leaving his right where it was so he wouldn’t disturb the singer’s lean.  “Hey, about Lo--,”

 

“I told ya, I’m not worried,” Tyler repeated, his voice a tad firmer.

 

“I heard you,” Bastian assured hastily, holding up his hands in placation.  “But, I just—want it out there that I don’t want you and Lo to break up.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“And if you ever did, I would actively try to get you two back together.  I’d pull out every trick in the romcom book if I had to.  Seriously.  I’d straight up tell him you were dying, make him ugly cry and everything.  I wouldn’t stop until you had made up and fallen back in love and went back to living on your alpaca farm in upstate New York.”

 

Bastian paused to inhale, and the singer twisted around until he was facing the taller man.  “You lost me at the ugly cryin’ but I think I got the gist,” Tyler said hesitantly.  “Is there…somethin’ else weighin’ on your mind?  Cause I’m pretty sure Iolo isn’t even that committed to this circus and he’s in it.”

 

“Just…I really need you guys to make it work,” Bastian told the ground.  Two narrow hands entered his view and moved to clasp his arms, right above his elbows.  “If, if you two can do it…it means that maybe I can someday.”

 

“Hun, if you need to be validated, I’ll do that for ya right now,” Tyler said with a gentle laugh and Bastian glanced up to catch the lazy smile return to the singer’s face.  “There’s not a doubt in my mind that you will be an amazin’ boyfriend.”

 

“Yeah, but you don’t know shit about me,” Bastian countered with a heavy sigh.  “I’ve never dated anyone.  I fuck—I’m fucking great at fucking.  But it never got serious cause…I dunno; it’s stupid.”

 

“I’m stupid but people still listen to me,” Tyler joked, and Bastian snorted at the effort.  “Go on, lay it on me.”

 

Bastian’s eyes narrowed, and Tyler opened his wide and guileless.  “Sweet Jesus, fine, I cave!  Stop looking at me like that,” Bastian scowled, reaching out and palming the top of the singer’s head and squeezing.  Tyler laughed, jerking his head out of Bastian’s grasp.  “Damn, those eyes are gonna drive Lo insane.  You better only use those powers for good.”

 

“Come on, quit stallin’.”

 

“I thought it would feel different,” Bastian grumbled, eyes dropping to the tennis ball that had rolled to a stop against his foot.  “Like, I’d meet someone and it would be different.  I wouldn’t want to fuck them; I’d want to…talk to them or something.  Like, I’d still think they were hot and shit—but that wouldn’t be it, you know?  But I never met anyone like that—and don’t say it’s just a matter of time,” he drawled, and Tyler obligingly shut his mouth with a small rueful smile.  “Because that’s what Lo says, but I believe in the law of large numbers and I’ve gone out and met enough people to last a lifetime and no one.  Not one stupid person.”

 

“And what did Lo say to that,” Tyler asked, a strange little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

 

Bastian rolled his eyes.  “He invited me down here.  Like, exposure therapy or something.  See, here’s the thing,” he heaved, sitting up and Tyler’s hands slid down to the other man’s wrists.  “I asked Lo if he had any tips for…finding someone.  Cause he’s nice and not judge-y unlike _some_ people we know.  And he said I could tag along and see for myself.  And then we got here and you…well, you aren’t doing so great and that makes Lo nervous and I thought it would be a good way to practice, ya know?”

 

“Practice,” Tyler repeated, somehow managing to sound curious but not critical, which Bastian really appreciated because he hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.

 

“Practice…being someone’s someone and I think I’m doing alright,” Bastian said in a defiant rush because he might as well dig his grave and lie in it at this point.  “Like, I was supportive as hell when Lo was mad at everyone for letting you disintegrate and I got you to drink something that isn’t chemicals, which I think is a win.  And it’s foolproof cause you and Lo have each other so there’s no risk of leading anyone on or sex messing anything up.”

 

“You’re practicin’ datin’…both of us?”

 

“Two for the price of one,” Bastian responded honestly.  Tyler stared, jaw hanging loosely.  “And it would’ve worked just fine if Poe and Finn didn’t go sticking their noses in.  Lo’s cool with it, and if you two don’t care then Poe shouldn’t have shit to say.”  The staring continued, and Bastian frowned.  “Unless you do care.  In that case, you just have to tell me.  Don’t worry about hurting my feelings or whatever—I basically don’t have any--,”

 

“Now hold on a sec,” Tyler interjected, shuffling on his knees until he was right in front of Bastian, kneeling and sitting back on his heels between the other man’s lanky legs.  “I’m not okay with my practice boyfriend talkin’ himself down.  If this is gonna work, I’m gonna need ya to be a little nicer to yourself,” the singer admonished playfully, the odd smirk returning.  “And if you think any of that is gonna convince me you won’t make a good boyfriend, you’re wrong.”

 

“Well, you already told me you were stupid so,” Bastian pointed out, and then grinned victoriously as Tyler tossed back his head, laughing in high-pitched abandonment.

 

“Did you find my phone or what?”

 

“Fuck you and your electronics,” Bastian retorted happily with a wide, toothy grin at Iolo, whose shadow fell over Tyler and Bastian’s outstretched leg like a weightless blanket.  The blonde’s lips twitched and even with the sunglasses covering his eyes, Bastian knew Iolo was fighting not to smile.

 

“If you fuck any of my electronics, I will end you,” Iolo stated matter-of-factly, using his middle finger to lower his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.  Tyler’s laughs slowed to chuckles, his head buried in his hands as his body shook, and Bastian bit his bottom lip, sending a questioning look up at the older man.  It was barely noticeable but Iolo’s right hand, hanging loose by his side, flashed a quick thumb’s up and Bastian’s shoulders relaxed.  “What’s the story here?”

 

“Bastian called me stupid,” Tyler tattled with glee.

 

“Now hold on--,”

 

“I don’t think he should be taking jabs at intellect,” Iolo commented, kicking Bastian’s ankle lightly.  “How many times did you try that goddamn cinnamon challenge before figuring out it could literally kill you?”

 

“Hey hey, I was nineteen and bored,” Bastian defended with complete sincerity.  “And I’ve got Ty, so you have to be nice to me,” he went on, both of his legs straightening and then bending, ankles crossing behind the singer’s back, boxing him in.

 

“Taking hostages now?”

 

“To be fair, this is a lot better than the last time I was a hostage,” Tyler said, shifting to sit cross-legged again.  “More air for one thing.”

 

Bastian’ and Iolo’s eyes meet immediately.

 

“Do I get to ask or you,” Bastian asked seriously.

 

“Matt wanted to pull an all-nighter at the studio and Tara was done,” Tyler supplied nonchalantly, picking the tennis ball back up and tossing it up.  “Can’t record if you don’t have the vocalist.  She had me in the trunk for half an hour before Matt gave up.  Thank God I’m not claustrophobic.”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with your band,” Bastian blurted out, and Tyler hummed and shook his head, lobbing the tennis ball up and over to Iolo, who caught it against his chest.

 

“We’re just a messed up little family.  We don’t mean it.  I spent three hours fillin’ her car with ping pong balls while she was at work,” Tyler said, smiling softly at the memory.  “Clyde and Matt bought out every dollar store for twenty miles.  It was amazin’.”

 

“Well, at least you give as good as you get,” Iolo allowed, turning to the side and hurling the ball at the wall, catching it on the first deflection.

 

“Lo, what’s your thoughts on wall ball,” Bastian asked, perking up.

 

“I’m undefeated since fourth grade,” Iolo replied.

 

“But when did you play last,” Tyler inquired lazily.

 

“Seventh,” Iolo answered, winking down at the singer.  “I tried to start up an underground, street rules wall ball club but it didn’t catch on.”

 

“That’s cause you didn’t recruit me,” Bastian said, scrambling to his feet.  “I see your win streak and I’m gonna end it.  Right here, right now.”

 

“Them’s fightin’ words,” Tyler chortled, slowly unfolding himself and standing, stretching his arms over his head.  “Chief, you gonna take that lip?”

 

“First to twelve, bumpers are in,” Iolo declared, taking off his shades and aiming a serious glare at Bastian.

 

“Jesus, I was kiddin’,” Tyler breathed with a nervous laugh.

 

“You’re on,” Bastian nodded, returning the glare.  “Ty, you want winner?”

 

“I’m not playin’ nothin’ with you lunatics.  I’m gonna grab a seat and watch this bloodbath from safety,” Tyler announced, holding up his hands and backing up.

 

“Scared-y cat,” Bastian taunted, adding a quick smack on the singer’s shoulder.  “If you’re heading to the bus, can ya grab Lo’s phone and some juices or something?  It’s actually hot as hell out here and I don’t know how you’re not melting right now.”

 

“I’m stronger than I look,” Tyler intoned, as if he had said that phrase a few million times in recent memory.  “But I’ll get y’all juice fiends your fix.  Addiction ain’t fun,” he added over his shoulder as he moseyed over to the white and beige bus across the parking lot.

 

“Okay, we play a quick game and then we go get lunch,” Bastian stated quickly once the singer was out of earshot.

 

“Sure, but I don’t know if Ty will go for that,” the blonde replied easily, untucking his shirt and starting on the buttons, the tennis ball squeezed between his knees.

 

“Matt the Dictator put him on vocal rest—and I don’t really know what that means but duct tape is involved.”

 

“It means he’s not supposed to sing or talk until the show,” Iolo said, sliding the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in his white undershirt and jeans.  “They did that in Austin last month.  I think Ty kinda likes it.”

 

“Well, if it means he doesn’t have to practice all day, I get it—are you done with the striptease or what?”

 

“Shut up,” Iolo laughed, shoving the cackling younger man away.  “You’re going down so hard, dude.”

 

“ _Can we fast forward til you go down on me_ ,” crooned Tyler softly, reappearing between the pair, exchanging Iolo’s shirt for a bottle of murky red juice.

 

“I dig it, but you might not want to do that out here,” Bastian commented lightly, accepting his bottle of green juice.  “The blacktop won’t be good on Lo’s knees.”

 

“It’s a song, you wacko,” Iolo snorted, shaking his head in exasperation and fighting the urge to grin at the third bottle in Tyler’s hands.  “And I heard you’re off the hook today.  Bas bet me—loser buys lunch.  You in?”

 

Bastian took a long gulp, watching the singer out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here.  Y’all ever been to Brooklyn?  There’s an old time-y ice cream parlor a few blocks from here.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Iolo grinned.  “Give me a minute to destroy Bas and then we’ll head out.”

 

“Only a minute?  We need to work on your finesse,” Bastian said seriously, and then ducking to avoid the tennis ball hurled at his face.

 

*****

 

Bastian smiled and crossed his arms, watching as Tyler dragged a mildly protesting Iolo onto the stage and over to the platform where the drum set was.  He watched as the singer pushed the blonde down to sit on the short stool before draping himself over Iolo’s shoulders, talking into his ear and pointing to the different drums and cymbals.  Tilting his head to the side, Bastian caught as Iolo shifted slightly and looked up, cross-eyed, at Tyler with a private, pleased simper. 

 

An arm snaked around his waist and Bastian didn’t even jump, just glancing down once to see the tan arm and dark hair and watch with a brown leather strap.  “Careful,” he muttered, focusing again on the couple where Tyler was now directing Iolo to beat a steady rhythm with his left foot on the bass drum peddle, Tyler’s hand tapping against Iolo’s chest, over the blonde’s heart, demonstrating the rhythm.  “All it’ll take is me looking at Finn wrong and everyone will think we’re fucking again.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmured as his thumb stroked Bastian’s hipbone.  “I didn’t know you were lonely.”

 

“Yeah, well,” the other shrugged uncomfortably, most of his attention given to the singer as Tyler grabbed two drumsticks from the narrow holder attached to the mic stand and leaned over and around Iolo to start tapping on the snare drum.  “It just sorta crept up on me too.”

 

“Lo knew,” Poe commented, and Bastian sighed, uncrossing his arms and awkwardly twisting around to get an arm around Poe’s shoulders.  “You could’ve talked to me.”

 

“Nah, that would’ve sucked.  We both know our strength wasn’t talking.”

 

“Truth,” Poe allowed with a chuckle.  “Still, if you get to grow up, why can’t I?”

 

“I had further to go,” Bastian commented, offering an ashamed little smile over to the older man, who grinned back, bumping their foreheads together gently.  Bastian laughed quietly at the action before the sound of a clashing cymbal drew his attention back to the stage.

 

Poe followed his gaze from where they stood on the left wing of the stage.  “So, you want that, huh,” he asked casually, nodding over to where Iolo had his arm snuggly around Tyler’s slim waist, steadying him as the singer reached out to muffle the reverberations of the cymbal.

 

“It…looks like fun,” Bastian answered with a hesitant wistfulness that had Poe frowning instantly.

 

“You know it’s not always fun.  Like, this adorable honeymoon is not gonna last.  I can already tell you about twenty things they’re gonna fight about—and from what I know about them, it’s gonna be full-on, knock-out, going-for-blood brawls.”

 

“Lo will be right,” Bastian mumbled, distracted by how the blonde tucked some of Tyler’s hair behind the singer’s ear, loosing the beat in the process, “but Tyler will win.”

 

Poe blinked.  “Oh-kay,” he began before getting cut off from a shout on stage.

 

“Hey, Bas!  Get over here!”

 

“Lord help me if I hear ya yell again,” threatened Matt, his voice ringing out through the speakers, the guitarist not even looking up from where he stood on stage left, plucking out notes in a pattern that Bastian vaguely recognized.

 

Tyler rolled his eyes before curling his right hand into a finger gun and aiming it at Matt’s back, squinting his right eye and mimicking kickback.  Iolo smirked, squeezing Tyler’s thigh for a quick second before he looked in Bastian’s direction and cocked his head, an expectant expression.

 

“Well, this was fun, Dameron,” Bastian said, pulling out of the lax hold, “but I’m being summoned.”

 

“Apparently,” Poe agreed, confusion heavy in his voice, but Bastian ignored it in favor of crossing onto the stage, twisting his neck around to take in the light stands and tall screens, which looked huge up close.

 

“Watch the step,” Tyler advised, holding out his hand for Bastian and then pulling the man up onto the platform.  “It’s higher than ya think.”

 

“Okay,” Bastian agreed mindlessly, letting himself enjoy the weight of the calloused hand in his own before releasing it.  “You two sounded good.  Ever thought of starting a band?”

 

“Jerk,” Iolo chuckled, tapping the bass drum peddle again.  “What did Poe want?”

 

“Supportive Dad,” Bastian replied simply.  The blonde nodded understandingly while Tyler shrugged with incomprehensive.  “So, what’s the story?”

 

“We decided you’re tambourine kinda guy,” Tyler smirked, unclipping said instrument from a black metal stand and holding it out to the taller man expectantly.

 

Bastian eyed the offering suspiciously.  “I’ll have you know, I don’t just tambourine for anyone.”

 

Iolo snorted and rolled his eyes, but the singer’s eyes lit with a glint and leaned in closer, Bastian mimicking the motion instinctively.  “Bastian,” Tyler purred, exaggeratedly, “will you be our tambourine man?”

 

Iolo burst out laughing at the pure, flabbergasted look that dawned across Bastian’s face.

 

“How,” Bastian breathed, barely audible over Iolo’s cackling, “the fuck did you make that sound sexy?  The tambourine is the least sexy instrument ever.”

 

“Nah, gotta be the triangle,” Tyler countered, straightening easily and tapping the drumsticks in his right hand against the triangular, curved metal.

 

“No, man, that’s definitely a kinky fucker,” Bastian said with a serious nod.  “Look at it, all contorted and shit.”

 

This time Tyler’s jaw dropped in surprise, and Bastian turned to Iolo for a victory high-five, which the blonde participated in with shaking shoulders.

 

“Chief, where did ya find this guy,” Tyler asked with wonder in his voice.

 

“I traded a bag of magic beans for him,” Iolo gasped, covering his face with his hands but his grin was still visible.  “You two are going to kill me.”

 

“Ty, I gotta ask ya somethin’,” Finn announced, suddenly standing in front of the percussion platform, hands in his pockets, “and ya need to really think about it before you answer.”  

 

“Sounds kinda serious, sweetie,” Tyler mentioned, crossing his arms loosely.

 

“Matt says over his dead body is Poe sharing a room with me tonight,” Finn stated, and the singer’s gray eyes darted up to look over at the guitarist, who stared right back.  “But, Clyde says he’s not sharin’ with Tara and Tara won’t share with Matt ‘cause he keeps her up.  And we can’t all fit on the bus—,”

 

“Well, Matt’s dead body aside, what do ya wanna do,” Tyler asked, sliding the drumsticks into his back pocket and bouncing the tambourine off his thigh mindlessly.  Bastian felt the urge to lean his elbow against Tyler’s shoulder and went with it.

 

Finn’s eyes focused on the point of contact for a breath before returning to Tyler’s.  “I mean, yeah, I guess I don’t wanna force Poe to stay with Clyde…”

 

Tyler nodded slowly.  “Not really an answer but okay.”  He raised his arm and flicked his wrist, indicating Matt should come over.  The guitarist’s sigh was evident even without the mic’s amplification, but he moseyed over.  “Either you share a bed or Finn does,” Tyler said as soon as Matt was standing beside the eighteen-year-old.

 

“You share a bed,” Matt shot back churlishly.

 

“I’m doin’ my part—I’ve got two,” Tyler snapped, pointing his thumb between Iolo and Bastian, who exchanged glances and then shrugs.  “You really wanna tell me I’m not carryin’ my weight here?”

 

Matt’s scowl darkened.  “Hittin’ below the belt, Ty.”

 

“Not givin’ me much to work with,” the singer retorted, small whine lengthening his vowels, and Iolo reached out and ran his hand up Tyler’s leg.  Tyler’s free hand dropped down to catch Iolo’s where it stopped just below his belt loops and held it there.  Matt grimaced, looking around surreptitiously, and Tyler’s fingers tightened around Iolo’s wrist.  “Finn, you’re bunkin’ with Matt.  Poe gets the fourth bed.  Everyone’s pissed at me and all’s right with the world.  We doin’ this soundcheck or what?”

 

Matt rolled his eyes and walked off without a word, while Finn mumbled a resigned “fine” before making a beeline for where Poe and Tara were chatting with animated hand gestures on stage right.  Tyler heaved a groan, dropping his chin to his chest, and Bastian caught how the singer’s eyes squeezed shut.  Bastian swallowed, shooting an expectant look at Iolo only to find the blonde watching him, a picture of patience.

 

“Um, so,” Bastian said loudly, moving his arm to drape around Tyler’s shoulders bracingly, “Cuddle Party Part Two tonight?  After the show I can go and grab us dinner, and you can text me when—I should bring it by.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Iolo agreed with a nod of approval, and Bastian found himself standing a little straighter.  “What do you think, Ty?”

 

The singer lifted his head, his eyes still closed, just as a golden spotlight came to life on the three of them.  Tyler inhaled deeply, his eyelids lifting and looking into the light in a daze.  Bastian blinked, a little in awe at how the warm light enhanced the slim man’s cheekbones and jaw, the glint off the gold stud piercing his nostril, and the thin, faint shadows his eyelashes cast when the singer’s eyes slid shut again.

 

“Sounds great.  Sounds great to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just morphed into a behemoth, I'm not gonna lie. I kept thinking I should do some serious editing, cut down some of the scenes or something, but I didn't have the heart to.
> 
> Thank you thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the first chapter. You are truly marvelous and I hope you have an amazing day :)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I aim to reply to every comment. I haven't been doing the best with that recently because life got crazy busy. But I truly read every one and value the time, effort, and, in some cases, courage it takes to leave one. Kudos and bookmarks are appreciated and marveled at. A few of my stories have been added to collections recently, and I am extremely flattered and honored.
> 
> Next up: Saturday, July 21st-Finn decides he needs some answers


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